Your grandfather′s guitar

Thinking about how funny I must look

Trying to adjust to what's been there all alongWith the boat kiosk lady and her sleepy amigos

But it ain′t a holiday until

You go to fetch something from the car

Travel size champagne cork pops

And we're sweeping for bugs

In some dusty apartment

The "what's-it-called café"

You can arrive at 11

And have lunch with the English

But it ain′t a holiday until

They force you to make a wish

They say, "Climb up this"

And, "Jump off that"

And you pretend to fall asleep on the way back

No, it ain′t a holiday until

You go to fetch something from the car