| He checks his wrist
 | 
| And chuckles to himself, «Half-past a freckle»
 | 
| She meets him in line, just in time
 | 
| For the half-past a freckle show
 | 
| Lips press her flesh
 | 
| With a wet sticky kiss
 | 
| The smell on his breath
 | 
| Makes her turn her face
 | 
| As she starts to get a little sick
 | 
| He hails a cab
 | 
| She gasps for breath during the drive
 | 
| She dives into his pants
 | 
| And he looks as if he’s shocked
 | 
| As if she should have knocked
 | 
| He says, «You're too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me»
 | 
| She says, «Maybe you’re too slow»
 | 
| Back at the motel
 | 
| He mentions his job is going well
 | 
| She unbraids her hair
 | 
| And for the ten-thousandth time
 | 
| Asks him again
 | 
| «What is it you do there?»
 | 
| He says, «I work at the Popsicle plant
 | 
| I pour the dye in the number five machine
 | 
| I am responsible for turning Popsicles green»
 | 
| «But you’re too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me»
 | 
| She says, «Maybe you’re too slow»
 | 
| She, she shimmies 'round the room
 | 
| Ha-ha-has while he explains
 | 
| She caresses a lamp
 | 
| Just to see his face full of longing and pain
 | 
| He says, «Let's do it on the floor»
 | 
| She says, «Tickle me instead»
 | 
| Well, he rolls his eyes so she slaps his thigh
 | 
| He says, «What did you do that for?»
 | 
| She says, «You're too fast for me!
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too fast for me»
 | 
| He says, «Maybe you’re too slow»
 | 
| You’re too, too, too fast for me
 | 
| Oh, you’re too, too, too fast for me
 | 
| You’re too, too, too fast for me
 | 
| She says, «Maybe you’re too»
 | 
| He says, «Maybe you’re too»
 | 
| She says, «Maybe you’re too slow» |