Up to this creek [bad word] to meet
 Where they done days by the summer heat
 The sun is always in their eyes
 They hold their glasses like they'd rise
 On a clouded fair and gin they dine
 They're always losing track of time
 All sloppy men grow paradise
 They import everything that's nice [bad word] is all what really heard
 Beaches are transient, they look
 Lover, too many to quote
 But better times they never show

 By now the dreams have all been dreamt
 All of the money has been spent
 The crashing surf upon the ground
 They know I never hear this sound
 Our life of middling at best
 Put that pro-touch-up to a rest
 Was either choice, they do not know
 That better times they never showed

 Paradise is all around
 But happiness is never found
 Paradise is all around
 But happiness is never found