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Dad pulls off and
Puts the brake on
Summer camping
And we're gone
Unwrap the snacks
In the sun
Put that East Coast
On the run
Mom lays our sleeping bags
On picnic tables
Safe from snakes
And mountain fables
Now the birds they
Wake us up
As at the creek
We fill our cup
To brush our teeth
And wash our face
No camping permit
In this place
The water rushes
Icy cold
And we pretend
To pan for gold
The sun reflects in
Mountain stream
And we awaken
To a dream
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Carlos' girl
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Carlos' girl
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