This Song Just Went From Bad to You

This back seat ‘aint big enough for the both of us, honey-
‘Cos I’m the patron saint of self indulgence
And you’re just a martyr to your misery
So if you could jump out here and don’t take offence-
But your kisses taste like yesterday.

So take your sad smile and stash it
Where you left your self respect.
And take your old ford and crash it
To give your voice that wrecked effect

With your London hair
And your Boston stare,
That perfect pair,
The clothes and the make-up
That you don’t wear

So I’ll be the Jack of Daniels
And you be the Queen Martini.
I’ll get shot down by hot girls
While you pretend you don’t need me

This back seat ‘aint big enough for the both of us, honey-
Self doubt’s getting the worst of me,
While I should be getting the best of you.
I hate the smell of sex and coffee
But I love that you don’t wear perfume.

‘Cos this seat smells like what we’ve done
With a trace of your self-respect.
You’re more work than masturbation-
And just not worth the girlfriend effect.

With your London hair
And your Boston stare,
That perfect pair,
The clothes and the make-up
That you don’t wear

So I’ll be the Jack of Daniels
And you be the Queen Martini.
I’ll get shot down by hot girls
While you pretend you don’t need me
This back seat ‘aint big enough for the both of us, honey.