Car cars, lovely old cars, lovely old, lovely old cars
My second car was a Granada, 2.8 ghia x, council house beige, 1978 the year of the ox. My step dad got it off a fella he knew for two hundred quid. Some of my mates had XR2's, XR3's and one even had an Opel Manta but my Granada was the pride of the college car park. You see, you could get seven people in the back and still be comfy. The first night I had it, I did doughnuts around the roundabout outside the pilgrim in Billericay, slow motion, dregs of pints and newly cooked kebabs, airborne, zero gravity, not a care in the world as the smoke from the tyres covered us in theatrical mist. That new year, 5 of us drove to Scotland for Hogmanay. We left at midnight after rounding up drugs. Broke the world record for Romford to Edinburgh up the M1 without a speedo, late night whoosh whoosh past the rest, dab of whizz, squidgy black, lucky dip in the bag of cassettes in the passenger foot well. At one point around 2am I was flagging and demanded the Baywatch soundtrack, some people stand in the darkness afraid to step into the light. At that point I put down my foot again carrying us all safely into the belly of a winter sunrise over Edinburgh castle, a December silence, a comedown imminent
Car cars, lovely old cars, lovely old, lovely old cars
My fourth car was a Renault 4, lawn mower engine 1984, powder blue, chassis made of paper, smelt like a French café at midnight, cigarettes and hormones, sweat and sausage. The first big journey I drove up to the Lake District with my girlfriend, slow lane, noughties soundtrack, shoulder to shoulder, fresh love, like apple blossom and new bread. We accidently stayed in a gay campsite full of women and some of them gave us nasty looks which made me uncomfortable and there were no showers for me so I bathed each morning in a stream made of ice cubes but it was fresh as we were consuming a lot of gin by night, in a single skin tent. The car blew up half an hour after we set off for home, the hills had killed it. The first tow truck also broke down so clearly I was cursed to live in a lay by forever, but we ate garibaldi biscuits and fig rolls and the man who drove the second tow truck let us smoke weed in the cabin and was a big fan of King Crimson
Car cars, lovely old cars, lovely old, lovely old cars
Right now I got a Volvo 1989, red estate, tape player and no fuel gauge, 3 kid seats for the 3 kids, crisps on the floor, biscuits crumbs on the dash, all of us singing Queen songs on the way to wherever. It's a car for people who like casseroles, moccasins and cords but smells like oil, 4 stroke, so I bought one of those magic trees, fresh linen but it ain't no magic tree, just some smelly cardboard, but still you know it's alright and occasionally you see other old Volvos on the road and as we pass each other we wave and just for a moment we are together and I'm not quite as lonely
Car cars, lovely old cars, lovely old, lovely old cars
