BRUNK HOWARD


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mamma please dont hit them brakes

She makes that pick-up dance

With one hand on romance

And the other hangin’ on to the wheel.

Goin’ eighty miles an hour

In a summer thunder shower

All that’s left to do is feel.


She fixes flat tires

With the touch that inspires

While my heart’s goin’ faster than mach one.

If it goes any faster

I’m bound for disaster

And I’ve hardly even begun.


Drivin’ in the fast lane

Of love’s rollin’ high stakes game

My mamma sure can spin them tires.

She don’t need radar

To find what she’s come for

Or the lighter to light love’s fires.


Eighty miles an hour,

She’s goin’ eighty miles an hour

In the fast lane of desire.

No need to check the oil

It’s my blood that’s startin’ to boil

And my eyeballs that’s startin’ to perspire.


Drive on through that hail

Let’s risk landin’ in jail

Drive on through them rollin’ earthquakes.

My heart’s begin’ to shake

An’ my head’s got an awfull ache

But mamma, please don’t hit them brakes.


Eighty miles an hour,

She’s goin’ eighty miles an hour

An’ she’s hardly givin’ it the gas.

She’s got one hand on the wheel

In that rollin’ lovemobile

An’ she’s leavin’ nothin’ to chance.


She's got genuine glass pearls

An’ genuine store bought curls,

There’s nothin’ about her that’s fake.

She's got four on the floor

But I still beg for more,

Mamma, please don’t hit them brakes.


Eighty miles an hour,

She’s goin’ eighty miles an hour

An’ though she never learned to bake,

It’s hotter than the sun

An’ I feel like I’m well done.

But mamma, don’t you dare hit them brakes.