Holiday (The King Blues)

After 3 long painful hours We finally step off the train It don't look like in the brochure It's all kind of brown and grey Helter skelter's covered up Lights out at the fairground And if the you walk along the pier You'll see why they burnt it down Lets wish upon these stones And we can throw them out to sea I know it all looks kind of hopeless But I believe they'll come back to me And every wave that crashes down Is a promise I'm making you Let's take over some old pub We can make this town brand new Could have gone for sun and sand Seen the sights of new Japan Maybe Thailand or Jamaica Been enlightened in Malaysia But I decided we're coming here It's a washout but we're gonna persevere In the town that time forgot We're gonna have fun whether you like it or not We're going away on holiday So pack your bags Away the lads And leave your dignity behind For the broken lights on the promenade And what's left of the skyline In the pub he's red like lobster Knocks them back he won't be outdone Union Jack swimming shorts In case we don't know where he's from Goliwog in the shop front window By the flashing vacancies sign No wonder when the world turned It left this town behind Two lovers in a chip shop doorway Huddled up 'cos it's howling down Falling in and out of love tonight But right now they're stood on common ground Drunk Romeo and Angry Julie Cuddly shark and a takeaway Battered painting See it fading From the gloden glory days Who's gonna choose dirt and rain When you could just fly to Spain Wou can get there pretty cheap Stay for about 'alf a week But not us we like it here Greasy food and pricey beer We're the only ones remaining We find it all entertaining Just wake me up when it stops raining We're going away on holiday So pack your bags Away the lads And leave your dignity behind For the broken lights on the promenade And what's left of the skyline He straightens up his bowtie in the mirror Checks that his teeth are squeaky clean For 35 years he's performed His proudly politically incorrect routine Bye the time the punchline arrives at climax The silence is deafening He realises he's the punchline As the cold truth dawns on him The spotlight fades out and the smoke disappears And he shines he eyes right to the back of the hall Aghast he screams as he falls to his knees and he sees Ain't no audience after all Just swarms of locusts Rats and roaches No applause no bunch of roses We've moved on now he's dying Cos we don't want to hear your racist jokes Or your greased lightening We're going away on holiday So pack your bags Away the lads And leave your dignity behind For the broken lights on the promenade And what's left of the skyline We're going away on holiday And we know we won't have to queue Because there's nobody around The fortune tellers saw their crystal ball And all moved out of town