Every year I go to a little beach town on the southern Pacific coast of Mexico.
Every year I can’t wait to leave the cold and rain and put my toes in the sand and get a drink in my hand. Hola Mexico.
Clock stops ticking when this plane lands.
There’s a beach with our name written in the sand.
Flip flops and a droptop and a 2-lane highway. .
Heading down south, running away.
Hola Mexico, Adios amigos I’m running away.
Hola Mexico, Adios El Norte, to another day.
Chillin’ on this beach, palm trees above.
Cerveza’s in reach and a girl I love.
No need to hurry go time for love.
No need to worry sun’s shining above.
Not’ thinking about, my boss, my work, the neighbor who’s a jerk.
The ex, her checks, the dogshit on the deck.
The bills, the lawyers, the phone call ringing annoyers.
The pain, the rain, the pressure on my brain.
Sunset, days end. Coming home soon.
Just one more night under this Mexican moon.
So raise a glass and make a toast, coming back next year to this Mexican coast.
Mick Dalla-Vee/John Graham 2022