He's fighting with his inner prude
All alone, sitting on the throne
Some native tongue on the TV blaring like an old peavey
He's using up all that old currency
Trudging through the waves of people
He's using up all that old currency
Travellin' will do him in
He don't aim to be rude
On to his lap, yes see the man slapping it off
If you take him out of this loop
Till his heart is cluttered and feeble
Still he beats the stampede for the duty free
He may be very easily duped
Some pommes frites and you know it's gonna drip