Saw you standing in the hallway, red plastic cup,
and one of those big long

cigarettes

You asked me if I could play you some Dylan

I said “Dylan who?” you told me to kiss your
ass

I apologized, but you could tell I didn’t mean
it by the way I rolled my eyes

and when you said it wasn’t me it was you

somehow I knew you were gonna tell me why

Stuff was flying out of the window

falling and breaking on the pavement underneath

He’s screaming at you, red faced and fuming

He’d come home early, parked his car way up the
street

You had your stockings in your hand, panties in
your purse

it was ten a.m. and all the neighbors heard

him calling you a whore and a tramp

you just stood there while your heels sank into
the warm wet ground

He got a lawyer, you got a bottle

He got the children and you moved in with your
mama

She fixes breakfast and lets you use her car

she don’t care how late you call to tell her
where you are

Ya’ll still fight and she still nags you some

but somehow it’s different now than when you
were young

It’s your own damn fault you been threw hell

for one reason or another, somehow she kinda
blames herself

lyrics by Mike Cooley

music by Drive-by Truckers (Cooley, Hood, Howell,
Lane, and Neff)