This poem is about the Chevrolet Hall of Fame in Decatur, IL and some of the cars there, including enough vintage Corvettes to cause a traffic jam on Route 66 (and pace the Indianapolis 500).

They used to sell hot dogs,
apple pie and baseball cards
in this fine old building.

Maybe the store even
Sponsored a little league team.
Now it’s the hallowed shrine
To the All-American car.

There’s the flashy versions
Of your grandma’s cars,
Or did grandma drive
The rowdy cousin’s?

A massive panel truck
Ready to rumble on its runs,
Impalas, Bel-Airs and Biscaynes,
All the great old models.
Sting Rays? Vettes?
Oh yes!
There’s Vettes and Vettes!
So many Vettes!
All these Vettes have 66
Backed up clear to 36.

Dinah, won’t you, well
she won’t honk her horn,
She’ll throw us a kiss after singing
about seeing the USA in your Chevrolet

Or we can just hop in the
’57 convertible and head over
to Steak n Shake for a bite to eat.
In sight, it must be right.