It describes that warm feeling that suffuses over a native Hawaiian, increasing their mana (spirituality) and benefitting the 'ohana (family) after a foreigner (mainlander/howlie) pays their hotel bill and gets the fuck out of Hawaii. It literally means, 'Eat shit and die you foreign asshole'. It has a popular variation among gigolos known as, 'Aleʻko'uʻkaiʻpaʻhulaʻwaʻhini', which means, 'Swallow my cum you crazy white bitch.'
ᏰƐƦሃℓԃᏫሁ ԼƐϖ'ś Lost in Translation: Foreign Words Without English Equivalents (Part II)
I miss you but I can't tell you
it will only makes things worse.
For we never belong to each other,
And I would never love you the way you loved me.
The way you loved me,vehemently,romantically.
As I lay eyes on this Hawaiian shirt,bold and vibrant in colors,
I see your cute little canine teeth
Your doey brown eyes made me want to cry
If they were ever enraged by gloominess,I'll take the blame.
But now you're back in Indiana,
living your small town life,
I can only imagine
how you put on your Hawaiian shirt and khakis and go to work
what you'd have said to me if you love me still.
I'm void,because of the words remain unspoken.
Nice Hawaiian Punch
I was standin there you see,
I wusn't expectin nutten,
when she double sucker-punched me in the gut
my belly revolted badly,
fowl words were on the button,
civil conversations like a pairing knife cut
It's been in the works you see,
we've been beggin for a fight,
the pressure is too much for you to take
so when I wasn't lookin',
first you threw a left and then a right,
and that is why now my belly ache
now the truth is setting in,
my waves have settled down,
a big mistake has reared it's ugly head,
my world will be in sorrow,
my presence banished from this town,
a nice Hawaiian punch the pain I dread
Living in my indigo house
sitting on a straight chair
I find the essential word
which turns me into
a suburban Hawaiian
here in snowy Michigan
and the word that appears
in my indigo mind
means love, compassion and mercy
as well as hello
and as well as goodbye.
there's two kids just moving the earth
with their feet, changing
as the turning clouds morph in the atmosphere,
lost like two turbines
on a windy day over smoke
stack curtains draping
blue walls. a different kind of arrival –
not by plane or bus
but by heavy thick cylinders
pouring out huge white
marshmallows over an open flame, dripping
onto coals without
a single chance to save themselves
I have not been anywhere,
done anything, thought anything,
and feel nothing.
that’s what my blank, plain-clothed
T-shirt would indicate to other people.
A man walking the earth with
no visible identity.
When I put on my Hawaiian shirt, however,
they believe my mind to be full of
pineapples, hula girls swinging softly in the
ukulele moonlight, palm fronds swaying
in the dacron, or is it rayon, ripples
of my baggy upper man.
Let others think what they might
of my images, or the lack of words
My inner tag says that
I’m size “L” and that I’m made on
factory looms in China, that my buttons
are constructed to look like the
real thing–a round slice of bone or
I am not so much anywhere on the
outside, even though there are places
I would like to go fling my few dollars.
Inside, however, I am lost,
pleasantly lost and hiding, within the
convenience of my unprinted shirt.