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R.O.

He was yellow, that cat
His motor ready for the grade.
What fueled his machine
Only he would ever show,
And though he was quite yellow,
It was crimson that filled his tanks.

His mustard countenance
(Rust-oleum 27274)
Old, just like his hue,
Was his, so proud to wear
Even to the grave.

He became the threshold
Of his favorite watering hole
For just as life and in his death
It was dirt that filled his soul.

He was yellow, that cat
Yellow through and through.

With oil and grit and sweat and spit
The old 140H laid down in the road.

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