Hey, I’ve had my eye on you all night.
This place blows, wanna get out of here?
Sup, I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a Category 5.
I’ll get you so wet.
I feel a storm surge in my pants.
Your name wouldn’t happen to be Wendy, would it?
There’s a storm in my heart and it’s called you.
Weird, I just checked the Doppler and it said I’ll be at your house in about 30 minutes.
You wanna see 12 inches?
Blow me.
Girl, the clouds have parted and I can see the future — it’s you and it’s me.
My eyewall is so thick.
Baby, I want to make landfall on you.
I’m the warm, moist air and you’re the water if you know what I’m saying.
I see you’re drinking a hurricane. How about you put your lips around me instead.
Oh damn, I think we’re in the same spin class. Get it, spin class?
I don’t want to pressure you. I’m not a high-pressure kind of guy, in fact, you could even say I’m low pressure.
The forecast calls for a 100% chance of me and you getting it on.
