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Would it bother you to know |
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His hands have been all over me? |
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And would it bother you to know |
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I'll run to him next time you leave? Oh, yeah |
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When you hit the road and disappear and leave me here |
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I'm not sure what you're doin' out there |
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Or who you're doin' out it with |
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Oh, you're probably at some sweet hotel |
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With some groupie whore but what the hell |
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Or maybe that's just something I tell myself |
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When I run my nails down his back |
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And he kisses me on my neck |
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He fills me, but it kills me |
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Such a bitter sweet passion, pain |
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I bite my lip not to scream your name |
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Oh baby, I feel everything but guilty |
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Would it bother you to know he drinks |
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Your Southern Comfort when you're gone? Oh yeah |
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Would it bother you to know he picks up |
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Your guitar and plays your songs? Oh yes, he does |
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And I wear your band's T-shirt to bed |
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Imagine I'm with you instead |
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But you're not here, boy you're never here |
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Oh, you're probably at the back of your bus |
|
Satisfying your one night lust |
|
Or maybe that's just something I tell myself |
|
When I run my nails down his back |
|
And he kisses me on my neck |
|
He fills me, but it kills me |
|
It's a bitter sweet passion and pain |
|
I bite my lip not to scream your name |
|
Oh baby, I feel everything but guilty |
|
Would it bother you |
|
To know he says he's in love with me? |
|
When I run my nails down his back |
|
And he kisses me on my neck |
|
He fills me, but it kills me |
|
It's a bitter sweet passion, pain |
|
I bite my lip not to scream your name |
|
Oh baby, I feel everything but guilty |
|
Would it bother you? Yeah |
