I'd bang her all along the watchtower, in a red house, a spanish castle, or a castle made of sand. She's so fine, there ain't no telling what I'd do to little miss lover. If I had one rainy wish I'd tell her come on baby, let the good times roll in a car through crosstown traffic and all through the burning of the midnight lamp. You know she's experienced in love or confusion, a highway child with manic depression. When I hear my train a 'comin, I'll grab my machine gun, leave her house burning down and be off, driving south.