Does she have the fever, coursing through her veins? It's changing her demeanor, makes her Supa crazy. Flailing her arms about a crowded scene dancing, sweating beads down her back, soaks her sexy panties.
What exactly should I say? What exactly should I say? It's as if my heart bled these words right onto this very page. I seal my intentions with a stamp; I'll shoot it out your way. I will shoot it out your way. Quit acting like a stupid bitch, would you once live for the day? Won't you once live for the day? I know you're better than this, so be.
Could she be my savior, despite my behavior? Or is she the harlot impossible to love? Coursing through my liver, this dialogue delivers words painted by liquor meant to compliment her. These lights under the disco ball, and she starts to fall in love, or maybe lust, in the back seat she'll blush.
& My heart's in the glove box while she gets her groove on