You’re 500hp, baby.
Hot piston fire like your rockabilly heart. All dolled and tatted and sweet as a sidewinder, you strike fear in the hearts, when you strike.
And, baby, we both know you always strike.
You saunter and swagger like a dirty guitar lick, raw and nasty. Bettie Paige meets a biker club, all revved up for shit to go down.
You’re Miss Mayhem.
Like a chrome skull shifter, you can be liquid smooth, like an ink dagger through a painted heart, you can be deliciously cruel, like the cherry-fire red pout of your lips, you can shape yourself into a little girl. Every trick makes you one wicked bitch, ruler of the rockin’ roost. Queen of the motherfuckin’ hill!
You have one speed, Kitten, goddam lethal. Every sap you set targets on, ends up with the ride of their life until you smirk and crank that wheel right into the wall!
Oops…should have worn a seat belt, tiger.
You’re switchblade sexy and brass-knuckles ballsy and shit, how they all fall for you, right off a cliff.
Leather and shots, lighters and gasoline, lust and last-one-standing. That’s you, baby.
50o fucking horse power. Pure mayhem.