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 parlor 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)
|
|
-----------------
|
The Lipstick On His Collar
|
| Caro Emerald |
