Right now I’m in the middle of conducting an interview via email of below-the-underground Florida writer Jack Saunders. At one point in our conversation he brandished this song, by way of criticizing how little is left of Hemingway’s Key West. It was penned by infamous half-joking bigot and “Gulf and Western” outlaw singer-songwriter David Allan Coe.

Click play and read along for a weirdo trip down the A1A:

There’s sailboats and conch shells and palm trees galore,
But Jimmy Buffett doesn’t live in Key West anymore.
Sister “Spare Change” has a bumper sticker on the door,
Says Jimmy Buffett doesn’t live in Key West anymore.

Hey smugglers hate those Buffett songs, snitching on the sly
Bringing heat where it’s already too damn hot to die.
Son of a son of a son of a bitch, what’s all that bullshit for?
Jimmy Buffett, he don’t live in Key West anymore.

Sailing to the Carribean Jimmy might well be,
Pictures up in Rollin’ Stone for all the world to see.
The rich keep getting richer, the poor they just stay poor,
And Jimmy Buffett doesn’t live in Key West anymore.

Now Jimmy’s moved to Malibu, with all them other stars,
He’s not down on Duval Street hanging out in bars.
All them goddamn tourists got to be a bore
Jimmy Buffett doesn’t live in Key West anymore.

So don’t tell me I sound like Jimmy Buffett
Just because I got that island beat.
Jimmy might have grown up on the ocean,
Me, I kinda grown up on the street.
Music’s just a way of life, me I’m livin’ free
So don’t lay all that Key West Jimmy Buffett shit on me.

Now “Divers Do It Deeper” must have really made them mad
Some of them reviewers said it really sounded bad.
Well they liked Margaritaville, me I liked it too
Someday Jimmy, why don’t we just both get drunk and screw?
Oh, all those creepy mother fuckers that think music is a whore,
Tell ’em that you just don’t live in Key West anymore.

There’s sailboats and conch shells and palm trees galore,
But Jimmy Buffett, he don’t live in Key West anymore
Sister “Spare Change” has a bumper sticker on her door,
Says Jimmy Buffett, he don’t live here any more.

All right boys, sound like Jimmy Buffett now —

The obstinacy, the mockery, the pure “Fuck You”-ery: here is some Florida shit that usually only comes out in dive bars or on the analyst’s couch. Rarely the kind of thing you can refer to in anything recorded, it’s fascinating stuff and irrevocably part of some corpus of Florida art.

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