Of a Spanish holiday, I ‘m much akin
Familiarity of somewhere I’ve never been
Whether it be an island of mainland Spain
The sight sounds and tastes remain the same
Are far back as my memories reach
It’s always been bed, breakfast and beach
Suddenly I’m a ten year old kid
Doing the same things that he did
I’m in my swim shorts, a pasty fool
On the balcony overlooking the pool
Big Brits abroad, splashing and sweating
Plenty of bombing, diving and heavy petting
This is what they call fun
A towel, a bed, a pint, the Sun
These are my countrymen on tour
Coming here as they’ve done before
This is what they call a vacation
With no localised assimilation
This is their summer sun kissed
Locals passed and culture missed
But maybe if they get the chance
They’ll taste paella and see a flamenco dance
It’s for the English that they cater
They chuck in a charming Spanish waiter
They’ll be back for the weather and the beers
Spanish holiday, not changed in years
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