| The clock has ticked eleven and the place is clear
|
| Reality is kicking in and so is my beer
|
| I don’t make excuses when it’s all my fault
|
| If a heart is made of money he’s cleaned out my vault
|
| I feel a little wounded and it isn’t fair
|
| To sit inside a parlour and see him standing over there
|
| As smug as a robber that a cop can’t catch
|
| The lipstick on his collar doesn’t seem to match mine
|
| (Mine, doesn’t seem to match mine, mine)
|
| Now Joe behind the bar is offering advice
|
| Cause I’m a broken record and he has to tell me twice
|
| Why don’t I understand that he just can’t change
|
| I wanna be his woman not his weekend dame
|
| Now Joe has eyes a’rollin' says it’s just too bad
|
| And he’ll be back tomorrow for my heartbeat crash
|
| I’d like to say goodbye, but hello is the match
|
| Though the lipstick on his collar never seems to match mine
|
| (Never seem to match, mine ooh, never seem to match)
|
| This line is disconnected
|
| (Mine, oohohohooh, match mine, yeah hey yeah) |