They say a Canadian can make love in a canoe
But there’s a harder place to fuck
It’s a very difficult thing to do
While swinging on a beach in a hammock

She was blonde and rounded and perfect
Wearing an evening bikini
She was covered in fine golden down
And the sight of her stirred my weenie

I had a beach fire, she sat down
We talked for a little bit
A couple of minutes necking
Then we were both ready for it

Off came the bikini with ease
Down came my salt crusted shorts
We grappled in the night for a minute
Then fell in the hammock with a snort

This was a Hamaca Familial
Large enough for five
You have to know how to use it
With two people aboard it was alive

No one gets tops or bottoms
Your centre of gravity is low
So we ended up arsehole to arsehole
Like a couple of dykes having a go

It seemed to work, we both had fun
Sleeping that night wasn’t though
The sandflies had discovered us
And we didn’t have a blanket or throw

She left before the sun came up
When the fire was a bed of ash
Down the beach into the dawn she strolled
And it came to me in a flash

I had never learned or spoken  her name
Despite the fine time we’d had
We’d drunk some rum, but not enough to forget
I guess I was just being a cad