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Does she have the fever,
coursing through her veins?
It's changing her demeanor,
makes her ââ¬Â½Supaââ¬Â crazy.
Flailing her arms about
a crowded scene dancing,
sweating beads down her back,
it 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'll seal my intentions with a stamp and 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 much 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,
but in the back seat she'll blush.