 Would it bother you to know his hands have been all over me..
And would it bother you to know I'll run to him next time you leave, oh yeah.
When you hit the road and disappear, and leave me here.
I'm not sure what you're doing out there, or who you're doing it with.
Oh You're probably at some sweet hotel with some groupie whore,
But what the hell, or maybe that's just something I tell myself.
When I run my nails down his back, and he kisses me on my neck,
He feels me, but it kills me.
Such a bittersweet, passion pain, I bite my lip not to scream your name, oh baby.
I feel everything, but guilty.
Would it bother you to know he drinks your southern comfort when you're gone. Oh Yeah.
Would it bother you to know he picks up your guitar and plays your songs, oh yes he does.
And I wear your band t-shirt to bed, imagine I'm with you instead, but you're not here.
No you're never here.
Oh you're probably at the back of your bus, satisfying you all night long,
but maybe that's just something I tell myself.
When I run my nails down his back, and he kisses me on my neck,
He feels me, but it kills me.
It's a bittersweet, passionate pain, I bite my lip not to scream your name, oh baby.
I feel everything, but guilty.
Would it bother you to know he says, he's in love with me.
When I run my nails down his back, and he kisses me on my neck,
He feels me, but it kills me.
It's a bittersweet, passion pain, I bite my lip not to scream your name, oh baby.
I feel everything, but guilty. Oh oh
Would it bother you...Yeah
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