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What a sexy
thing you are,
In the back seat of my car,
Hope we travel really far,
You'll make me a racing star.
Never
thought I'd have the nerve,
Slowing down to make your curve,
Why'd you have to go and swerve?
Now I'm running on reserve.
There's a
time and there's a place,
To gas up and give a chase,
But I think I lost the race,
Never one to keep the pace.
So I
travel down the road,
Trying to live by highway code,
Coasting by in neutral mode,
Now my engine's getting cold.
In the
shop I'll leave my car,
Never got me very far,
Oops, I think my door's ajar,
Seems I drive a compact car.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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