The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.

Albert Camus

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Hot Stuff
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Hot stuff, hot stuff
Can't get enough
Hot stuff, hot stuff, can't get enough
The music is mighty, mighty fine
Hot stuff
Play it rough
Cause music is want I want
To keep my body always moving
Yeah, shake it up, hot stuff
Everyday I get another dose
I can't stand it when the music stops
Hot stuff
Everybody on the dance floor
You know what I'm talking about
Music make you forget all your trouble
Make you sing and make you tell the whole wide world
So what? Hot stuff
I want to tell all my friends in London
There ain't nothing wrong with you
But you'd better shape up
Shake it up, your hot stuff
All the people in New York City
I know you all going broke
But I know your tough, yeah you're hot stuff
To everybody in Jamaica
That's working in the sun
Your hot, your hot stuff
Shake it up, hot stuff