The Good Times

I sat on the plane, on my way to a new life,
spilt a whiskey, my fellow passenger remarked:
'What a waste,' a small price to pay for adventure,
It was my time, I'd invested in the future,

It was exciting, didn't know what I was going to,
in to the unknown, down below were patches of blue,
they were swimming pools, those guys must be rich,
then I remembered, someone told me, 'Life's a beach.'

I had work to do, different to a back-packer's holiday,
the grey clouds of Londres were definitely 'yesterday,'
however, my time was not limited to a few crammed days,
I was there for the log-term, in and out of the bays.

The wine was better there, a bonus in instalments,
until the 'whites' were dragged out of their fancy apartments.