| Would it bother you, to know his hands have been all over me?
|
| And would it bother you, to know I’ll run to him next time you leave?
|
| oh yeah eh
|
| When you hit the road n disappear and leave me here
|
| I’m not sure what you’re doin' out there or who you’re doin' it with
|
| Oh you’re probably at some sweet hotel with some groupie whore
|
| But what the hell or maybe that’s just somethin' I tell myself
|
| When I run my nails down his back n he kisses me on my neck
|
| He feels me. |
| but it kills me
|
| Such a bittersweet passion pain, I bite my lip not to scream your name
|
| Oh baby, I feel everything. |
| but guilty
|
| Would it bother you, to know he drinks your Southern Comfort when you’re gone?
|
| oh yeah eh
|
| And would it bother you, to know he picks up your guitar n plays your songs?
|
| oh yes he does
|
| And I wear your band t-shirt to bed, imagine that I’m with you instead,
|
| but you’re not here
|
| No you’re never here
|
| Oh you’re probably in the back of your bus. |
| satisfying your all night lust
|
| Oh baby, that’s just something I tell myself
|
| When I run my nails down his back n he kisses me on my neck
|
| He feels me. |
| but it kills me
|
| It’s a bittersweet passionate 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 n he kisses me on my neck
|
| He feels me. |
| but it kills me
|
| It’s a bittersweet passion pain, I bite my lip not to scream your name
|
| Oh baby, I feel everything. |
| but guilty. |
| oh, oh
|
| Would it bother you. |
| baby? |