Sick Holiday

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday

I work with a coin doing seven day weeks
Gonna spend all my money in the sun and the sea
I got a fake tan and I'm ready for the club
Looking for a fit bird or a rub-a-dub-dub
Dave, Nobby and fat boy Jeff
Chatting up the girls at the easyJet desk
Bands of the lads in the back of the plane
Had a tactical razz, I've been drinking all day

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday, I know you're telling me

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday

Down on the strip it's already hotting up
So I neck a colada from a coconut cup
Dressed in a low cut day-glo dress
Show a little nipple on my shaven chest
Fishbowl cocktails over the streets
Double drop casualties girding at me
John's with Mandy in the back of the club
In a couple of hours we'll be right mashed up

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday, I know you're telling me

Sick holiday, I know you're telling me
Sick holiday

Awoke on my own in a dark little room
With no recollection of why or who
With an ashtray mouth and a crack on the bone
No passport, wallet or mobile phone
I had a little sniffle to the man in the sky
In the hope that my mother might hear my cry
'Cause she won't like me being on my own
Mama, mummy, mummy, I wanna come home

Sick holiday
Holiday
Sick holiday
Sick holiday