At eighteen out the grove
With miles on our vehicle
Into the world we drove
Playing padiddle

Crossing other avenues
Exploring youth
We came to twain
Right on lovers lane

On the streets we less travel
Burning rubbers
Wheel on the gravel
Not wearing out our tires

Moving through gears
Without a bum steer
We held in convoy
Our transport of joy

What had us clutched
Going in route
Was this fine transmission of lust
Carried through the make out

Oncoming to bedroom traffic
Kisses in transit
Had time in rush hours
Standing like a busted meter

Passion with no need to tank on gas
By the service station sign
Turned under the overpass
Exit highway 69

Into the backseat of that beat-up dodge
Squeezing into the motor lodge
Arousal being an unsecured cargo
Rocked it as in a Winnebago

Entering the parking lot
All our emotions loaded up
Even the public bathroom had no doubt
We weren't here for a rest stop