I was the car's copilot, I don't know how to drive
Trying to nail the song without knowing which to choose, choose
I wanted you to think that it was for you
As if one song were enough to predict
Stored, waiting in the glove compartment
I sinned with the song that I played
But you haven't watched the same movies that I have
You don't want to fall in love
So what do I want your number for
If you have nothing to tell me?
What makes me mad is having rehearsed enough to be
One hand on the wheel, the other ends up on my knee
I don't know if it's love or nerves, but I feel the tingles
I smile, holding back, I think of flirting, you've turned me on
You pull off at an exit to finish what you've started
Because you haven't watched the same movies that I have
You don't want to fall in love
So what do I want your number for
If you have nothing to tell me?
What makes me mad is having rehearsed enough to be
What makes me mad is having rehearsed enough
Having checked out your old photos
Having listened to interesting music
I was the car's copilot, I don't know how to drive