No chocolate In the Duty Free shop Two drops of scotch Gonna end up on his crotch Tonight All alone Sitting on the throne Some native tongue on the TV Blaring like an old Peavey He don't aim to be rude He's fighting with his inner Prude Some pommes frites And you know it's gonna drip On to his lap Yes, see the man slapping it off Traveling Will do him in Trudging through the waves of people 'Til his heart is cluttered and feeble If you take him out of his loop He may be very easily duped Still he beats the stampede For the Duty Free He's using up all that old currency He's using up all that old currency Using up all that old currency