When we were young and the world seemed fine,
My dad bought a cottage underneath the pine
By the shores of a lake with a funny name,
We used to go there just the same.
He never said a word about snakes and bees;
Gooey stuff leaking from the bark of trees;
Thunderstorms loud enough to split your head...
... But it's a lifestyle.

You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.

The golden memories flood back:
- p____le bushes.
- Bloodsuckers between the toes on the lake bottom.
- Falling out of the tree fort.
- Being bitten by the chipmunk that lived underneath the boathouse.

Horseflies dining on my back,
B.B.Q. heaven burned to black,
Motorboat havoc kept me on the shore,
Suntan fever to a migraine roar.
Overheating as I lay in bed,
Blankets wrapped around my head,
No way spiders landed on my face...
... But it's a lifestyle.

You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.

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