Lyrics:
At home he feels like a tourist
At home he feels like a tourist
He fills his head with culture
He gives himself an ulcer
He fills his head with
laying low off to a flying start
Play my guitar in the Caribbean sun
Hang with the locals at the Quiet Mon
Where you can be a tourist, a beach bum,
Nowadays, the big cities
are modern theme parks for tourists,
hipsters, VIP.
I can't hear the birds singing,
but I can hear the sound of the trolley
destination
Maybe I'll get a souvenir
Like how tourists do
A little something to remember
A place I'll never come back to
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Just a tourist
You be lacking the whole vibe looking like a tourist
That's why you lying in that church while they sing the chorus
I done seen the trap turn some
The girls like to talk to me
For reasons I don't know
I'm just a tourist out of season
For reasons I don't know
For reasons I don't know
I'm just a tourist
tourist who flies high who flies high
Who flies high
All to please this Gringo tourist who flies high
He’s gonna fall from the Sky
Fall from the Sky
Haven't woke up in a minute
I got wonderland in mind
I got wonderland in mind
I go find you in the forest
We get twisted like some tourist
She get
bleeding Mary, feeling gypsy king
But you've got no idea the trouble that I'm in
Unlucky in love, unlucky in love
I'm the last sex tourist on the bus
Why
up to christ, I see the light
Don't tell me that you mine, so why you don't act like it
Why you don't fight for it
No, I don't date tourists (no, I
the forest
In my own mind I'm only a tourist
Ice-ice-ice-ice-ice-ice cold, flying, floating through the forest
In my own mind I'm only a tourist
Ice-ice-ice
breed, leaders, stand up, organize
We live in a world overrun by tourists
Tourists, eighty-nine flowers on their back
Inventors of the accu-jack
They
breed, leaders, stand up, organize
We live in a world overrun by tourists
Tourists, eighty-nine flowers on their back
Inventors of the accu-jack
They
[Chorus:]
Round trip, hip-grip, bullshit, fit, hit
Groovin' away in the heat of the car
Round trip, hip-grip, tourist's madness
Sweating away in
the tourists, Vanzetti
Around your Plymouth Rock
Black glasses, sun goggles, an' glasses
Smoked glasses to block out the light
I see 'em come here as you've
tourists on a bus
Now the skies are watching us
Tantalus, Tantalus, we are tourists on a bus
Now the skies are watching us
Tantalus, Tantalus, we are
At home he feels like a tourist
At home he feels like a tourist
He fills his head with culture
He gives himself an ulcer
He fills his head with
everything's sweet for me that's a treat
‘Cos I'm on the beat Pete
Swing my truncheon merrily try to teach the blind to see
Move a lady for a seat a tourist
me.
And you know that
you gon be all right with me
yeah you gon be all right with me .
Feelin like a tourist, you a sight to see
Yeah. You a sight
to Paris
And I had to go hang in the streets
So now we don't talk
But that's quite alright
You were a tourist in my town
Saw all your photos and pretty
THE TOURIST
Writer Wynn Stewart and Curtis Leach
Copyright 1965
I was just a tourist out on the great white way
Where lights make night as bright
brother
That's that creek squad bitch
When rollin' through my city I see changes
I see tourists pissin' on the
Street in front of ladies
I see locals
thinking I'm a tourist, I'm a West Indian
(Part Yardie, Bajan)
Born ah England and a true African
(Ahh)
I'm gonna take it cool for a day
Just feel
Feeling the spirit i hope that you hear it
You know that this music right here is the purest
I'll show that bitch around like she a tourist
I put my
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