adventures in dysthymia

Monday, January 23, 2006

TOURIST SEASON

Every year they journey forth,
the annual migration,
Streamin’ down from all points North
bringin’ irritation!
We try our best to be pleasin’
but it’s mighty hard to suit ‘em;
Why is it called tourist season
when we can't even shoot ’em?

Motor homes in front of me,
fill up the passin’ lane;
Why, Southern hospitality
can barely stand the strain!
They creep along for no good reason
though our horns, we loudly toot ’em
Why is it called tourist season
when we can't even shoot ’em?

Oh, maybe I’m just a little cranky
and they do put food in my mouth
But does every solitary Yankee
have to come down South?
Could we send ‘em back to where it’s freezin’
do you think we could reroute ‘em?
Why is it called tourist season
when we can't even shoot ’em?

Let me ask y’all another thing:
whether young or old,
Does every tourist have to bring
along a northern cold?
Each place I go, I hear them sneezin’,
their noses, they loudly toot ‘em!
Why is it called tourist season
when we can't even shoot ’em?

Stephen Brooke ©2006

Words toward a song of the sillier sort. I came across the 'tourist season' phrase on line and decided to work something up around it.

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