She likes it hot
She likes a tan
She steals my infra red when I'm gone
Oh no can it be
We're heading for a heatwave

Her legs are brown
A trace of rust
She's in love with a MKII deluxe
Oh no can it be we're heading for a heatwave

Her hair is bleached like it's been boiled
She browns herself in a sea of olive oil
And I come around and she's relaxing
In the conservatory