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:   - Prickle bushes.   - Bloodsuckers between the toes on the lake bottom.   - Falling out of the tree fort.   - Being bitten by the chipmumk 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 migrarne 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.