[CHRIS]
My dad’s old records
Are in boxes in the basement
They’re nasty and fading
But the cover art's pretty

My mom, she wants to throw them out
To free up some space
But I won’t let her cuz they’ve been here
Since he moved to the city

I’m glad he didn’t take them
When he moved to the city

And when I listen
When I listen
When I listen

I’m eleven years old
As he drives to me school
We eat at a diner
We hang by the pool

We talk and put
R-rated movies on
Old records remind me
Of things that are gone
Old records remind me
Of things that are gone

And I imagine myself
And my band on the cover
Sitting on the shelf
Of some used record store

Twenty years some kid
Thinks I look just like him
Puts the album in his backpack
And he pulls out the door

When he listens
When I listen

I’m in control
And I’m singing a song
And Lisa is there
And she’s nodding along

John is making up licks
I come up with a rhyme
The garage door is down
And it vibrates in time
And the band plays together
It’s cool and it’s hot

Old records remind me
Of things that I’ve got
Old records remind me
Of things that I’ve got

And my dad’s not gonna miss them
He doesn’t even want them anymore

Not with his New York City pad
Not with his new impressive life
You don’t need records
When you got a hot Korean wife

Sometimes I wish I had a brother
Sometimes I'm glad I have John

And old records remind me
Not everyone’s gone
Sometimes when I'm singing
I freeze up and can't move

And old records remind me
I’ve got things to prove
Never stole anything
Never been in a fight
Old records remind me
That's something's not right
Old records remind me
Of when things were fine

My father's old records
Have now become mine