| Imagine Houston in the middle of July | |
| Hotter than a pistol on a saturday nite | |
| Your baby's on the front porch with a bamboo fan | |
| As you pull up to the curb in your black sedan | |
| It don't take her long she knew you were comin | |
| With a slam of the screen she's off and she's runnin | |
| Now she's sittin there beside you you forget about the heat | |
| You leave your troubles at the curb and take your passion to the street | |
| With a steam-heated love | |
| With a burning desire and a tropical fire in your blood | |
| With a steam-heated love | |
| That hurricane feelin it's got you reelin, | |
| You can't even wait for the flood! | |
| You put your arm around her and you tell her the news | |
| And the white lines and the freeways they twist like a fuse | |
| While the Pilgrims from the East with their U-Haul trailors | |
| Build cities out of canvas just like shipwrecked sailors | |
| And the asphalt sweats while the welders weld | |
| And your wheels are hotter than the hinges of hell | |
| And you better watch your step if you're just standing around | |
| Because the buildings ain't constructed they erupt from the ground | |
| Chorus | |
| Outro | |
| The parking lots are steaming with a street sweepers mist | |
| Just the perfect atmosphere to steal a little kiss | |
| And you notice that the moon has been coated with chrome | |
| As it begins to rise beside the Astrodome. |
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