Rico Suave was a photo bum,
Born with a camera in each hand.
He shot from Maine to Yokohama
Without a comma
And every frame was worth ten grand.
He’d shot them all since he was five inches tall,
It didn’t matter which brand.
Yep, he was the best, forget the rest,
Until he shot Instagram.
It was hot as hell one day late in May,
The water was the same temp as the sand.
Under the boardwalk Rico was shooting the breeze,
When somebody put a Droid in his hand.
Get out of my way, he was heard to say,
I’m the best shooter in all the land.
But behind him came a sinister voice,
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”
It was The Devil and he turned,
As his fingertips burned,
Lighting a cigar with his brand.
‘The photo op’s here,” he said with a leer,
“Throw me a picture, Rico-san!”
So Rico took aim, to enhance his fame,
“The Devil’s Picture, I’ll be Damned!”
And the shutter went click, but Rico felt sick
When the photo refused to be scanned.
“Failure,” it read, and the screen then went dead,
But Rico merely held up his hand.
“Cool off your hooves, I still have my moves,”
And he aimed the phone once again.
Well, it went that way, pretty much all day
Till the sun sizzled into the drink,
The screen had died, the camera phone fried,
And the Devil gave Rico a wink.
it was right about then that Rico pulled out
His old fold down Polaroid.
The shutter went clunk,
And they both got drunk,
Toasting Rico Suave’s sangfroid.