| She could drink tequila straight
|
| And never even think of me at all
|
| She’d never call
|
| Get her on the jack and coke
|
| Swear to God before you know
|
| I hear her voice on the phone asking me if I’m alone
|
| But she don’t drink whiskey anymore
|
| She don’t show up at my door
|
| All lit up with the midnight buzz
|
| But the midnight buzz just ain’t enough
|
| Yeah, I guess I always thought
|
| I’d be her last call, her last shot
|
| She don’t drink whiskey
|
| She don’t drink whiskey anymore
|
| Last time when I kissed her lips
|
| She was a beautiful hungover mess
|
| Laying in my arms cause of Maker’s Mark
|
| And if she was somewhere tonight
|
| Sipping bourbon over ice
|
| She’d leave the bar, leave her friends
|
| Wind up wanting me again
|
| But she don’t drink whiskey anymore
|
| She don’t show up at my door
|
| All lit up with the midnight buzz
|
| But the midnight buzz just ain’t enough
|
| Yeah, I guess I always thought
|
| I’d be her last call, her last shot
|
| She don’t drink whiskey
|
| She don’t drink whiskey anymore
|
| Yeah, I guess I always thought
|
| I’d be her last call, her last shot
|
| When she drink whiskey
|
| She don’t miss me
|
| She don’t drink whiskey anymore
|
| She could drink tequila straight
|
| And never even think of me at all |