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A bottle of white, a bottle of red Perhaps a bottle of rose instead
We'll get a table near the street In our old familiar place
You and I-face to face
A bottle of red, a bottle of white It all depends on your appetite
I'll meet you any time you want In our Italian Restaurant.
Things are okay with me these days Got a good job, got a good office
Got a new wife, got a new life And the family's fine
We lost touch long ago You lost weight I did not know
You could ever look so nice after So much time.
Do you remember those days hanging out At the village green?
Engineer boots, leather jackets And tight blue jeans
Drop a dime in the box play the Song about New Orleans
Cold beer, hot lights My sweet romantic teenage nights