He drives to Charlotte, every third Monday, and checks into the Twelve Oaks Motel.
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He calls it business, and he calls the number of a woman he knows all too well.
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Every third Monday when his wife packs his suitcase, he looks her straight in the eye.
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Every third Monday he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie.
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Back home in Atlanta, in a cafe for lovers, she slips off her gold wedding ring.
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To a stranger in a back booth, she whispers I'd love to.
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Two can play at this old cheatin' game.
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Every third Monday, she packs his suitcase, she looks him straight in the eye.
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Every third Monday, she finds a new way to tell him that same old lie.
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Every third Monday, he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie.
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Every Third Monday
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| Sammy Kershaw |
