College is over

Dermot packed the sun cream, six shirts and no regret,
The wife packed twelve suitcases — she’s still not finished yet.
Kids shouting “Are we there?” before they’d left the lane,
By Dublin Airport security he’d aged about ten years again.
First night in Benidorm, he swore: “This trip’s for peace and zen!”
Three minutes later he was rescuing inflatables again.
But by day three he found his groove — cold pint, plastic chair,
Stared out at the sea and said: “Lads… I’m practically retired out here.”
So chill out, Dermot, leave the law and leave the bills,
Forget the WhatsApps, e-mails and the endless Irish chills.
Let the kids run feral, let herself order sangria by the litre,
Your only job’s a sunburnt nose and arguing with a waiter.
Benidorm’s not heaven — but sure it’s not far away,
And if anyone asks for anything… pretend you’re asleep all day

Dance,, Party, Male Vocals, Upbeat