| Imagine Houston in the middle of July
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| Hotter than a pistol on a saturday nite
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| Your baby’s on the front porch with a bamboo fan
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| As you pull up to the curb in your black sedan
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| It don’t take her long she knew you were comin
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| With a slam of the screen she’s off and she’s runnin
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| Now she’s sittin there beside you you forget about the heat
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| You leave your troubles at the curb and take your passion to the street
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| With a steam-heated love
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| With a burning desire and a tropical fire in your blood
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| With a steam-heated love
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| That hurricane feelin it’s got you reelin,
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| you can’t even wait for the flood!
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| You put your arm around her and you tell her the news
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| And the white lines and the freeways they twist like a fuse
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| While the Pilgrims from the East with their U-Haul trailors
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| Build cities out of canvas just like shipwrecked sailors
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| And the asphalt sweats while the welders weld
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| And your wheels are hotter than the hinges of hell
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| And you better watch your step if you’re just standing around
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| Because the buildings ain’t constructed they erupt from the ground
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| Outro
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| The parking lots are steaming with a street sweepers mist
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| Just the perfect atmosphere to steal a little kiss
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| And you notice that the moon has been coated with chrome
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| As it begins to rise beside the Astrodome. |