Oncoming Traffic

The devil owns a hill in my town

Pulls you fast as you're riding down

And at the bottom there's a cop in a church parking lot.

I got stopped and wondered why

My surroundings can't choose sides

But I can't rightly get mad 'cos neither can I

Neither can I

I can't choose sides.

Lately I've been getting bruised

By love I can't afford to lose

And I can't say that I like it, but what else am I supposed to do?

I've learned this trick, you hand me a noose

And I will craft you an excuse

And I'll deliver it direct to the tip of your tongue

In place of "I'm sorry"

"I'm sorry"

Let's not say it if nobody is.

Driving last week we nearly died

And nothing flashed before my eyes

But I think I spilled something on your leather seats

And I'm sorry about that

I'm sorry about that

I'll pay for it.