|
Coming home with a bottle, trying not to break the seal |
|
This Friday evening traffic's about enough to break a man's will |
|
And I can't wait to see you, see how your week has gone |
|
And tear into old |
|
No.7 and make love till dawn |
|
But your mama she'll be calling, if she ain't knocking on the door |
|
And it won't take me long to remember what |
|
I brought that bottle home for |
|
And we'll all get to fighting, just like we always do |
|
By Saturday morning, |
|
I'll be singing these blues |
|
Last night |
|
I slept with my boots on again |
|
One cut on my forehead one on my chin |
|
On the hard old floor with nothin' to cover up with |
|
You got me real good, girl, |
|
I must admit |
|
Pack purty mean punch for such a pretty little dish |
|
And it's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this |
|
Come Monday morning, |
|
I'll be sore to a fare-thee-well |
|
Cussin' God and |
|
America, begging them both just to send me off to hell |
|
But the boss man don't want no excuses |
|
When it comes time to get on the clock |
|
And without that paycheck, |
|
I'd lose the rest of what sweet love |
|
I gotLast night |
|
I slept with my boots on again |
|
One cut on my forehead one on my chin |
|
On the hard old floor with nothin' to cover up with |
|
You got me real good, girl, |
|
I must admit |
|
Pack purty mean punch for such a pretty little dish |
|
And it's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this |
|
It's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this |