| She weren’t much to look at, she weren’t much to ride
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| She was missing a window on her passenger side
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| The floorboard was patched up with paper and tar
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| But I really was something in my old yellow car
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| An American boy with his hands on the wheel
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| Of a dream that was made of American steel
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| Though the seats had the smell of a nickel cigar
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| I really was something in my old yellow car
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| Somewhere in a pile of rubber and steel
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| There’s a rusty old shell of an automobile
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| And if engines could run on desires alone
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| That old yellow car would be driving me home
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| There’s the seat where poor Billy threw up on his date
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| And where Larry and Sandy could no longer wait
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| There was no road too winding and nowhere too far
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| With two bucks of gas and my old yellow car
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| Somewhere in a pile of rubber and steel
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| Thee’s a rusty old shell of an automobile
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| And if engines could run on desires alone
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| That old yellow car would be driving me home
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| Take a look at me now throwing money around
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| I’m paying somebody to drive me downtown
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| Got a Mercedes Benz with a TV and bar
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| And God I wish I was driving my old yellow car
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| God I wish I was driving my old yellow car |