Mountain-ridge

Sometimes I'm a bit hysterical, fired like lighter,
That's because my sign is leo, all of my songs are ditties,
Letters and poems are better written on a typewriter,
And I'd rather live in the seventies,
I think I'm too obsessed with the old style and my lover,
And that's why I'm running through cities.

My hair is patched up, but still curly fixed,
And my lips are covered in scarlet lipstick,
I put on a pencil skirt below my knee,
And go rocking to the blues in my heels.

Let's just get in your vintage car and drive away?
We both love the soapy streets of New York, agree, don't be shy, babe.
You're driving so hard that we're riding with a wild wind on a level,
It's already midnight, but we're wild, smiling like children with this weather,
Our hair is flowing, and we feel free, passing on the Brooklyn Bridge,
Baby, come on, driving faster, I want to stay on the mountain-ridge.