Slip your make-out jeans
Over yr hips
Make sure they can see
You know you've got cake
They'll call it a superstition
But wait a while
Soon, lucky in love
They'll fit like a glove
And you're away
Drive from the passenger seat
Your feet on the steering wheel
You've carved out your niche
In your driver's heart
Dance into the driveway
Streetlights of red and white
Cold night, you're on the make
Your jeans hug your thighs
In their rough embrace