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.