| I ain’t even gonna ask you
|
| I can read you like a book
|
| Girl, if I ever saw one that’s an
|
| I can’t believe I did that look
|
| You look like something
|
| That the cat drug in
|
| So I won’t kick you while you’re down
|
| Just let me tell you, friend to friend
|
| About a block I’ve been around
|
| Did you really think last night
|
| Would last forever
|
| Did you really think that guy
|
| Hung the moon
|
| Right now, you hate yourself
|
| Cuz you knew better
|
| But there’s no use crying
|
| Over spilled perfume
|
| No use crying over
|
| No use crying over
|
| No use crying over spilled perfume
|
| La la la la la la, la la la la la
|
| Mary was married with children
|
| Had the perfect suburban life
|
| 'Til her husband came clean with the help of Jim Beam
|
| And confessed all his sins one night
|
| Said he’d fallen in love with a barmaid
|
| Said she made him feel reckless and young
|
| And when he was through, what else could she do
|
| She just let that pony run
|
| 'Cause you do what you gotta do
|
| And you know what you know
|
| Hang on 'til you can’t hang on
|
| Then you learn to let go
|
| You get what you need sometimes
|
| But when it’s all said and done
|
| You do what you gotta do
|
| Then you let that pony run
|
| Let that pony run
|
| Ooooh-yeah
|
| She’ll turn thirty-four this weekend
|
| She’ll go out with her girlfriends
|
| And drink some margaritas, cut up and carry on
|
| There’ll be guys and there’ll be come-ons
|
| She’ll probably get hit on
|
| But she thinks all the good ones are gone
|
| She’s got friends down at the office
|
| And she can’t help but notice
|
| That when the day is over, how they all hurry home
|
| Every day there’s guys she works with
|
| Even some she flirts with
|
| But it seems like all the good ones are gone
|
| And her momma called this morning
|
| Said I’m worried about my baby
|
| Said I wish you had a family of your own
|
| She said Mom it’s not that easy
|
| Well you make it sound so simple
|
| She can’t take the first man that comes along
|
| She’ll turn thirty-four this weekend
|
| She’ll go out with her girlfriends
|
| Drink some margaritas, cut up and carry on
|
| Oooh-yeah |