| Travel they say improves the mind,
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| An irritating platitude, which frankly, entrenous,
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| Is very far from true.
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| Personally I’ve yet to find that longtitude and latitude
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| can educate those scores of monumental bores
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| Who travel in groups and herds and troupes
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| Of varying breeds and sexes
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| Till the whole world reels…
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| to shouts and squeals…
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| And the clicking of Roliflexes.
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| Why do the wrong people travel, travel, travel
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| When the right people stay back home?
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| What compulsion compels them
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| and who the hell tells them
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| To drag their cans to Zanzibar,
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| instead of staying quietly in Omaha.
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| The Taj Mahal and the Grand Canal
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| And the sunny French Rivera
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| Would be less oppressed if the Middle West
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| Would settle for somewhere rather nearer.
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| Please do not think that I criticize or cavel
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| at a genuine urge to roam.
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| But why, oh why, do the wrong people travel
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| when the right people stay back home
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| And mind their business
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| when the right people stay back home
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| And eat hot doughnuts
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| when the right people stay back home
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| I sometimes wonder |
| why the right people stay back home.
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| Just when you think romance is ripe it rather sharply dawns on you
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| That each sweet serenade is for the tourist trade
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| Any attractive native type who resolutely fawns on you
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| Will give as his address American Express
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| There isn’t a rock between Bangkok and the beaches of His---pianola
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| That does not recoil from suntan oil and the gurgle of Coca-Cola
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| Why do the wrong people travel, travel, travel
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| When the right people stay back home?
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| What explains this mass mania to leave Pennsylvania
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| And clack around like flocks of geese.
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| Demanding dry martinis on the isles of Greece
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| In the smallest street, where the gourmets meet,
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| They invariably fetch up And it’s hard to make them accept a steak
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| that isn’t served rare and smeared with ketchup.
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| Millions of tourists are churning up the gravel
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| While they gaze at St. Peter’s Dome,
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| But why, oh why do the wrong people travel when the right people stay back home
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| with Cinerama
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| when the right people stay back home
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| with all that Kleenex |
| when the right people stay back home
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| I merely asking
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| why the right people stay back home
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| What peculiar obsessions inspire those processions
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| Of families from Houston Tex
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| with all those cameras around their necks?
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| They will take a train
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| Or an aeroplane
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| For an hour on the Costa Brava,
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| And they’ll see Pompeii
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| On the only day
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| When it’s up to its ass in molten lava!
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| It would take years to unravel, ravel, ravel
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| Every impulse that makes them wanna roam.
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| But why oh WHY do the wrong people travel
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| When the right people stay at home."
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| and Yogie Bear-O
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| when the right people stay back home
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| won’t someone tell me why the right people stay back home. |