I drive a classic Volvo car, a well-built two-ton Swede
Made years before Ford Motor Co. laid hands on the company deed.
Then Ford, near bankruptcy, sold out to Chinese Geely
And Volvo sank from Detroit flash to cut-rate chinoiserie.
I prize my ancient Volvo, even though some call me fusty
(By this is meant I'm fogeyish, and not that I smell musty),
Because materialistic women are repelled by the car.
Though sometimes I fear that all women are.
But nonetheless, I take my motto
From my auto.
As "Volvo" translates from the Latin scroll: