They sure don't make cars built like that anymore.
I could feel how solid, when I slammed the door;
Bench seats that allow the driver to snuggle,
While power steering makes turning no trouble,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

The car was surrounded with plenty of chrome,
That glistened in sunlight when I drove it home.
The dice on the mirror would blow in the breeze,
While half-moon hubcaps were all polished to please,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

A hood ornament would help guide me along,
With radio blasting my favorite song.
Gas station attendants would wash the windows,
Fill up my gas tank, and check the water hose,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

As teen with his dad's car, would go show it off,
Along city streets, at a red light standoff,
Then cruise through the loop to impress all the girls,
Gunning the engine 'til exhaust makes smoke swirls,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

I'd take my honey to drive-in movie date,
And almost always end up coming home late.
Dear dad would be checking the mileage gage.
When I came home empty, he flew to a rage,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

I'd often get grounded, but then I'd sneak out,
And with all my friends, go travelling about.
If I got caught, I knew which brother to thank.
I'd steal his allowance to fill up my tank,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.

I'd love to be back there in those happy days.
Those times were the finest in so many ways,
When Elvis, the Beach Boys, and Beatles were stars,
Detroit was producing the finest of cars,
And gas was just twenty nine, nine.