"A throat-clearing -- nay, cat-screeching in unmelodious discomfort -- ode to the days of yore, a tribute to those pioneering, half air-conditioned days gone by of hardship and just plain ole' swash-bucklin' fightin' o' drug lords in pastel linen jackets and sock-free leather shoes! Manola's voice is like a forgettable mule's braying paying reverence to those lamborghini-speeding pioneers of Miami's economy, and our soon to be reborn hero -- that conqueror of evil, Sonny Crocket -- in the form of the ever-generous, SUPER-SIZE ME Colin Farrell ... behold, even at half mast, the Irish man cometh and his cup runneth over ... a man who sees the half-pint of stout full, no doubt, and giveth a whole new meaning to MIAMI VICE."
--Ms. Annie Steelclit, music critic, Stone Gathered Moss Magazine
i recall the yellow cotton thong
that I wore, at the south beach night club,
overpriced drinks, tasted bad
whores like tender ladies in your pants
and the women pimping, gin and tonics that were free
macarthur causeway a traffic jam in the dark
all the sweet white powder, flowing down
someone left the coke out in the rain
i don't think that i can snort it
port of miami does import it
yet i'll never have to bribe a cop again
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