| I was riding shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his car
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| He’s got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel the other on my heart
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| I look around, turn the radio down he says baby is something wrong?
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| I say nothing I was just thinking how we don’t have a song,
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| And he says…
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| Our song is the slamming screen door, sneakin' out late, tapping on your window
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| When we’re on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it’s late and your mama
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| don’t know
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| Our song is the way you laugh the first date «man, I didn’t kiss her,
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| and I should have»
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| And when I got home before I said amen asking God if he could play it again
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| I was walking up the front porch steps after everything that day
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| Had gone all wrong and been trampled on and lost and thrown away
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| Got to the hallway, well on my way to my lovin' bed
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| I almost didn’t notice all the roses and the note that said…
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| Our song is the slamming screen door, sneakin' out late, tapping on your window
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| When we’re on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it’s late and your mama
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| don’t know
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| Our song is the way you laugh the first date «man, I didn’t kiss her,
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| and I should have»
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| And when I got home before I said amen asking God if he could play it again
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| I’ve heard every album, listened to the radio
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| Waited for something to come along
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| That was as good as our song…
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| Cause our song is the slamming screen door, sneakin' out late, tapping on your
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| window
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| When we’re on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it’s late and your mama
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| don’t know
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| Our song is the way you laugh the first date «man, I didn’t kiss her,
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| and I should have»
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| And when I got home before I said amen asking God if he could play it again
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| I was riding shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his car
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| I grabbed a pen and an old napkin and I… wrote down our song |