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