It's August and it's blasting hot, the squad car's A.C's dead.
Now Amy's bitching 'bout the heat. Our fuel gauge is on red.
We coast on fumes to the garage and turn the squad car in.
"The freon's leaking," Amy yells to her mechanic friend.

I tell my partner, "Day shift sucks, I like the night shift better.
My clothes are soaked with sweat! I think the shower couldn't be wetter!"
"You stink, you candy-ass, go bathe," she whispers in my ear.
I do, I dress, I'm out the door to Hogan's for a beer.

They shout my name as I walk in, "Hey look, it's Rookie-DICK!"
They love to bust me on my name. I've heard it 'til I'm sick.
"Real good, Mutt. You're original." I grab the farthest stool.
Then Hogan pulls my Guinness, sets it down. It's dark and cool.

The thick, chilled brew goes down my throat. I slurp the creamy foam.
I smack my lips, then realize I'm not down here alone.
I cast a sideways glance and see the grin, the crimson hair…
I turn and smile and raise my glass to Arsenal, who's there.

"How long ya been here, Roy?" I ask, "I hope I'm not too late.
The shift was long and hot and I was anxious for our date."
"Forget it, Robbie, just relax, our chow is on its way.
We'll drink our Guinness, eat and bail. Forget about today!"

"The cavalry is here, take heart and have another drink!"
And as he speaks his hand is on my leg -- I'm turning pink!
'Must be the heat,' I think, then smile and have another Guinness.
The night ahead will be as hot, as Roy grins like a menace!

The food is great (it always is), the Guinness nice and stout.
We eat. I pay. We say goodbye, head for the door, we're out.
The evening's hot and muggy as we walk back to my place.
We get inside and shut the door, then Harper sucks my face.

Oh God, his tongue is down my throat, his hands are on my ass.
He pulls back from our kiss and winks. "Oh, DICK," he says with sass.
"Let's hit the bedroom fast so I can touch you skin-to-skin."
"Okay," I say. I'm in his arms. He kicks the door, we're in.

Our clothes go flying everywhere, my pants north, his shirt south.
I'm on my back, he's inching down and then I'm in his mouth!
My brain is gone, my cock goes wild, I'm coming with a scream!
My legs are up, his condom's on, the lubricant's a cream

that came from France, a gift from Babs, mail-order, for my hands
because they're rough, and OH MY GOD! My senses do handstands!
My Roy has notched his arrow and he fires at my bulls-eye!
He's dead on target, what a marksman! "Roy!" I have to cry.

"Don't stop!" I yell. He laughs and works his cock with sheer delight.
He rubs my foot and then I come the second time tonight.
Roy grunts, "Ugnh, Robbie!" then he gives a final passion thrust.
He shoots his mighty load and then he falls upon my bust.

We lie there gasping just like fish (don't tell Garth what I said).
We're in a coma for a bit then come back from the dead.
He pulls out, slips the condom off and throws it in the trash.
He lies down, kisses me. I say "our dates are such a smash!"

"You turn my brain to mush," I tell him, "and my will is weak
because you wink and grin and tease." I kiss him on the cheek.
"Inspired by Guinness," Roy agrees and pulls me to his chest.
"Both brew and you, my Roy's boy-toy, are simply just the best!"