| 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» |