Week yet ‘til payday.
Been good, ‘n spent all my cash on bills and food.
but now the beer’s gone,
and the whiskey ain’t got much left.
that teeth-tug way you pulled away,
with that blushing smile,
grazing me in pink rows.
The bite and warmth of you.
I ain’t real sure if it came ‘cross,
but I was trying to proposition you at that bar.
I reckon you know from the way we won’t meet eyes anymore.
margaritas don’t sound half bad.
