A Cadillac El D in three shades of gold, shined to blind, his picture there on the drivers'-side door, like a hologram, baby, down to the dimples, right three-quarter profile, his best side, you bet, and he's smiling, eyes hooded, like he just came away with the girl of your dreams.
Cruising the boulevard, two in the morning, three miles an hour, hat tipped to the side, and gangster-leaned back, his Star in the front seat, three blondes in the back, and a punk in the trunk 'cause he likes it like that.
He's CEO of the firm, dreams of boardrooms, WASPs begging for tips, Elke Sommer.
Replays the dream, and now it's Sophia Loren on the Isle of Capri...
He comes to a light, checks the gas gauge, decides he better go get some.
And then get a toot, and pretend that the climb's not so steep...
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