Vintage Noir
All the people stop and stare,
they don't care, they don't mind the street-lights.
Bumpers kiss, fenders bend, I saw her grin, when she saw them glance again.
Black skin, with the wild hair, ripped denim laminated on her derrière.
Leather in the summer, ask her if she cares, all the people stop and stare.
Black vintage with the wild hair.
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