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Met, this girl down by the vine

Had long tan legs and big brown eyes

Seemed the type I would wanna make mine

She said I can tell you're not my type

You're Mr. Wrong, I'm Mrs. Right

This could never be what you wanna be tonight

I said don't you worry, don't you fray

I've got twenty-four ounces of Bombay

Can we work it out? You don't have to be alone

She said nine to five, I'm killing time

But twenty-four-seven, three-six-five

I'd have to be where I feel your sunshine