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That lipstick on your collar, well, it ain't my shade of pink
And I can tell by the smell of that perfume, it's like forty dollars too cheap
And there's a little wine stain on the pocket of your white cotton thread
Well, you drink beer and whiskey, boy, and you know I don't drink red
Found it over in the corner
Wadded up on the bedroom floor
You shoulda hid it in the closet
You shoulda burned it, you shoulda lost it
Now I'ma have to hang you out to dry, dry, dry
Clothespin all your secrets to the line, line, line