Volcano

by Jimmy Buffett, Keith Sykes, and Harry Dailey

from the album Volcano


Lyrics

Now, I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow
Let me say it now
I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow

Ground she’s movin’ under me
Tidal waves out on the sea
Sulfur smoke up in the sky
Pretty soon we learn to fly

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow
Let me hear you now
I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow

My girl quickly say to me
Mon you better watch your feet
Lava come down soft and hot
You better lava me now or lava me not

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow
Let me hear you now
I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow

No time to count what I’m worth
Cause I just left the planet Earth
Where I go I hope there’s rum
Not to worry mon soon come

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow
Let me hear you now
I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow

But I don’t want to land in New York City
I don’t want to land in Mexico
I don’t want to land on no Three Mile Island
I don’t want to see my skin a-glow

Don’t want to land in Comanche Sky Park
Or in Nashville, Tennessee
I don’t want to land in no San Juan airport
Or the Yukon Territory

Don’t want to land no San Diego
Don’t want to land in no Buzzards Bay
I don’t want to land on no Ayatollah
I got nothin’ more to say

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow
Let me hear you now
I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a gonna go
When the volcano blow

Jimmy’s Note:

One of the wildest times I’ve ever had in my career was an expedition to the Caribbean Island of Montserrat to record an album. The events which took place could fill a book, and one day they just might. The whole time we were there, the volcano above the studio seemed to be waiting for us to do it justice. One day Keith Sykes came into our house strumming his little Martin, singing the chorus. I took it from there, and the gods of the volcano appeared to be satisfied.