Here's a simple observance of mine
Don't call me sexist. It's just my opine.
And I know it's really not always true,
And I also know that you might argue.
But here's the deal, it's no affectation
You always can tell men who're on vacation.
I'll tell you why if you're really curious
Although it'll make a lot of gents furious.
But they seem to dress in horrid apparel
When they'd really do better dressed in a barrel.
These normally well-dressed men decide
To find a sweet cottage by the seaside.
Then on day one of their vacation
(They ought to be forced to deportation,)
They put on some shorts of vomitus plaid
And their shirts? The best description is "bad."
These guys who dress well on business days
Whose wildest colors are black, grey, and beige
Just lose it and suddenly they're wearing a symphony
Of baroque colors more like a timpani.
These guys seem to not feel the tiniest shame
Of walking about in shirts aflame
With Hawaiian patterns, or prints or stripes
Of mismatched splendor of ghastly types
Of every material known to man,
The clothes on these guys look like Grandma's divan.
And what's with their socks? Don't they have a clue?
Black socks and black shoes with shorts just won't do.
Especially short black socks, especially nylon
The clothes on these guys no house fly would fly on.
Some wear tank tops when they really not oughtta
Over huge bellies. They don't really gotta.
And those hats, there really should be a law
They inevitably make all viewers guffaw.
But there's one sure way you can always tell
When a man's on vacation, though he does rebel.
It's while he's shopping with his dear wife
And she's trying on clothes as if her life
Is about to end, so she'd better buy lots,
And her husband awaits her, thinking bad thoughts.
The way you can tell those poor guys on holiday?
It's clear to all, for them it's no jolly day.
They're the guys with the big sour pusses
Looking a lot like furious gooses.
They're the guys who're muttering curses.
They're the guys forced to hold their wife's purses.