Quick Quick Slow

You'll go back to your husband He did the work he won your heart Any work I could've been doing I never really got to start There was a time when we could've tried but that time came and went Typewriter street poet even she knows it Ain't timing a bitch Sometimes the road lets me win Sometimes it drown me in bad weather Sometimes it's worth getting sick Just to feel yourself get better But I can dance with you it ain't against the rules Even with your hand on the back of my neck Two old fools we ain't much for rules Ain't timing a bitch Squeeze me hard and crack my back I don't want to be sober tonight There ain't nothing left in my stash But there's some drug sleeping in my spine Set them free baby just like me, a little late I'll admit Swore I heard you say as you were walking away Ain't timing a bitch