Panties in Your Purse

Saw you standing in the hallway
Red plastic cup and one of them big long cigarettes
You asked me if I could play you some Dylan
I said "Dylan who?" and you told me to kiss your ass
I apologized, but you could tell I didn't mean it by the way I rolled my eyes
And when you said it wasn't me it was you
Somehow I knew you were gonna tell me why

Stuff was flying out of the window
Falling and breaking on the pavement underneath
He's screaming at you, red-faced and fuming
He'd come home early, parked his car way up the street
You had your stockings in your hand, panties in your purse
It was ten a.m. and all the neighbors heard
Him calling you a whore and a tramp
You just stood there while your heels sank into the warm wet ground

He got a lawyer, you got a bottle
He got the children and you moved in with your mama
She cooks you breakfast and lets you drive her car
She don't care how late you call to tell her where you are
Y'all still fight, she still nags you some
Somehow it's different now than when you were young
It's your own damn fault you been through hell
For one reason or another, seems like she kinda blames herself

Music by Drive-by Truckers (Cooley, Hood, Howell, Lane, and Neff)