Play That Funky Bouzouki White Boy

trying to sleep take a simple nap but the whirling dervishes in my mind won't stop stomping or dancing and as i'm "one who delights in all manifestations of the terpsichorean muse" my memories remind me of a time on the island of Thera Greece where each of us to be leaving the next morning invited a friend who invited a friend and we all sat down at the psari (fish) taverna it was a regular U.N. of travellers and back packers and like a meeting at the Hague we took over the place much to the owner's happiness as we ordered and ate and sated our thirst on homemade Retsina so much so that we drank every drop of what was made but even a kiwi pleaded he'd drink the dregs to keep elated but the owner was already pouring thank you shots of ouzo with many linguistic cheers he knew what he was going to do to cheer his new found friends for with this the night would end with sudden static sounds of wires popping he had plugged in an electric bouzouki to yells whoops and hollers of broken accents of broken Greek and English asking turn the amp to eleven and do you know any Hendrix