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" © MUSIC CORPORATION OF AMERICA; ESTA CHICA MUSIC; Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com