Finnie, Roundie , wherefore art thou...
Beetle, Spyder, no raise of any brow...
Your span's been cut
Ten years, you're out
and the capitalist youth still don't understand why
Graceful Lines that run down your flowing curves
Streaks of chrome that give you years of mirth
Valves that take some time to warm
Surely fill the air with songs so strong
We have forgotten you cars of old
when pace beckons and time is short
we live for today...richness we have not
you still call out
forget you we must not
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