does it even matter...
their anchors couldn't even reach
to the bottom of the bathtub?
she will kiss till your lips cry,
but she wont take her dress off,
and at the bottom of the barrel,
they cuddle with their missile,
running out to sea.
americana... tropicana...
and the sail could fly the sky,
its such a strange job, it is,
playing blackjack on the decks.
americana... tropicana....
oh, does it even matter?
that she can see you wearing your
best tie out to sea.
crying out to the good ole girls,
stay with me.
and the slippery prawn slide on the deck,
trying to win your nets.
americana... tropicana....
atop this giant puddle,
we are dressed in white
and waging a war.
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