El Cowboy Rojo Lyrics

I left my house at a quarter to four
Saw my boy, Sean, at the record store
I said "Damn man, it's been way too long"

He said, "Hey brother, how it's nice to see ya,
Hows your girl, Anna Lucia?
Four years with one chick's way too long"

"I know this blonde her name's Christina
She's just your type I'm sure she'd love to meet ya"


Damn, I couldn't believe it
I run my mouth dry then I try to feed it
The thought could give me an ulcer
But the truth of the matter is I'd love to meet her

f**k, I mean I love Anna Lucia
But the touch of another just seems so "whoa whoa"
I mean I'm better without her
What's the use of a name, without a number?


Sean left and said "good luck"
Then he jumped into his truck
He yelled, "Your secrets safe man, I don't give a f**k"

"Okay, gimme her number
Thought about it, yeah I'd love to meet her
I've got the place if she's got the time"

I knew Anna's going out on Sunday
Staying with her mom till late on Monday
I know she won't expect a thing

I met Christina at her work on Friday
We hit it off and we were both excited
I invited her on Sunday for a drink

Sunday came quick and so did Christina
She shook me harder than Anna Lucia
She yelled, and screamed my name

I couldn't believe the sin was conceived; the culprit was me
Christina was sweet but trite naive, she wasn't for me
No doctor's degree, no clean history, no small crooked teeth
My precious baby, Anna, if only I could tell ya,
I'd tell ya I was sorry, it was never worth it

After the sex, we cleaned up our mess, then we got dressed
Christina said "Please, don't write or call me."
I grinned and agreed, Anna arrived on Monday night, with tears in her eyes
She said " I ain't your f**kin' baby, tell me I am crazy,
I know just waht happened, hope you're f**king happy."

Get your hands off of my hands, lover
I can smell the blood of another
Get your hands off of my hands...

I didn't need to hear this or that
I got a woman's intuition as a matter of fact
I can still smell the salt and the sex in your breath
Better hit the road, Jack, 'fore I cut you up dead

So help me God if I catch you alive
You burned me so bad that I can't even cry.
Pack up everything that you plan to keep.
I'm heading for the bar and I'm having some drinks...

Get your hands off of my hands, lover

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Record Label(s): 2009 Trophy Scars
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