The Car

Your grandfather's guitar Thinkin' about how funny I must look Tryin' to adjust to what's been there all along With the boat kiosk lady and her sleepy amigos But it ain't a holiday until You go to fetch somethin' from the car Travel size champagne cork pops And we're sweepin' for bugs In some dusty apartment, the what's-it-called café You can arrive at eleven and have lunch with the English But it ain't a holiday until They force you to make a wish They say, "Climb up this" And "Jump off that" And you pretend to fall asleep on the way back No, it ain't a holiday until You go to fetch somethin' from the car