Uno, dos, tres—turn the bass low
Sammy switch the tongue like a passport stamp,
Mumbai moon then L.A. lamp,
hips talk Sanskrit, lips talk French,
every little whisper got a double entendre bench.
Beat drop dirty but the heart stay clean,
karaoke confessions in a taxi between
continents we tangle in a one-night flight,
Google-translate love on a red-eye bite.
So talk dirty, say my name in neon rain,
spin the globe again—
every border that we blur
makes the night a little louder when we slur.