Tripoli Pop Mom

C Dutchmen on the dashboard

Sticker peeling in the heat

You’re singing wrong words

Loud and proud

Kids all kicking at the seat

Flip-flops on the gas

You laugh

At every billboard we pass

You say

“Someday you’ll tell this story

About your wild-ass mom and her maps”

Plastic crowns from a drive-thru bag

You put one on

Say

“I’m still bad”

I roll my eyes

Hide my smile

You just turn it up and fly

Tripoli pop mom

Windows down

You drum along

Turn every red light to a stage

Every wrong turn to a song

Tripoli pop mom

Sunburn

Thrift-store prom

You keep this busted car alive

On dollar gas and sing-alongs (oh yeah)

You swear we’re “basically abroad”

At some roadside antique barn

You bargain for a cracked snow globe

Call it “art with extra charm”

You say

“Baby

This is culture”

Posing by a plastic palm

I take your picture

Try to frame

The way you make a mess feel calm

You miss the exit

Laugh too hard

Say

“Straight lines never go far”

I check the time

Then your face

And let the hour drift away

Tripoli pop mom

Windows down

You drum along

Turn every red light to a stage

Every wrong turn to a song

Tripoli pop mom

Sunburn

Thrift-store prom

You keep this busted car alive

On dollar gas and sing-alongs

One day I’ll be the one

Driving some kid through the sun

I’ll say

“Your grandma taught me how

To waste a day and call it love somehow” (hey!)

Tripoli pop mom

Windows down

I’ll drum along

Hear your laughter in the air

Every time they know the song

Tripoli pop mom

You’re my lucky charm

You built a whole wide world for us

On dollar gas and sing-alongs