Not much in this trailer, now
A picture book, remote control, and a cookie jar shaped like a cow,
A macrame‚ frame, 'round a picture of me,
Sittin' in a pool of stale beer, on a black and white T.V.

There's a baby in the bedroom that doesn't know you there
As you're lying in the bathtub with shampoo in your hair
And the radio is playing some fucked up country song ...
And sorta like us it's sad and sweet, but it won't last for long ...

'Cause I can tell your love is waning from the looks and smell of it,
Like getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit ...
Getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit
I don't know ...

Not much in this trailer, now
A picture book, remote control, and a cookie jar shaped like a cow,
A macrame‚ frame, 'round a picture of me, Sittin' in a pool of stale beer, on a black and white T.V.

There's a baby in the bedroom that doesn't know your there
As you're lying in the bathtub running water through your hair
And the radio is plays "Mack the Knife" ...
And I begin to think as I pull myself a steak knife from the bottom of the kitchen sink ...

'Cause I can tell your love is waning from the looks and smell of it,
Like getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit ...
Getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit ...

I still don't know ... I don't know ...

Not much in this trailer, now
A picture book, remote control, and a cookie jar shaped like a cow,
A macrame‚ frame, 'round a picture of me,
Sittin' in a pool of stale beer, on a black and white T.V.

There's a baby in the bedroom -- doesn't know your there
As you're lying in the bathtub with blood all in your hair
And the radio plays so damn loud I can't hear myself think ...
As I wash the blood from my fingers and the knife in the bathroom sink ...
'Cause I could tell your love was waning from the looks and smell of it,
Like getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit ...
Getting caught behind a cattle truck and all you smell is shit
But I know that if we could just get past, these foul moods we're in ...
We could drive on down the highway, girl, with all our windows rolled down once again ...

Writer : BRENT BEST
Copyright : Lyrics © BUG MUSIC