The Sininen's lyrics & chords

We are driving to a camping place in Provence, southern France, my dad is at the wheel, my mom sits next to him. I am laying down in the backseat. I do so because the smell of gasoline makes me sick. "When will we be there?" I am asking again. The radio plays Plastique Bertrand, Bowie, ABBA,Burt Bacharach, Jacques Brel, and sometimes my dad put a cassette by Fabrizio de André or Paolo Conte in the cassette player, that my mom holds on her lap and they sing. We finally arrive. The camping place toilets smells bad, the sand on the beach is hot a...read more