Trevor

Trevor, I'm not gonna cover for you anymore

I'm not gonna fill in for you at your auto-part store

While you're taking the women to your bed

I'm sleeping with a cold shotgun at my head

And nursing an unholy desire for pain

Trevor, the language of sorrow is spoken in my heart

You just wave a greasy hand from underneath your car

I know panels are your life

But if you want me to be your wife

You're just gonna have to learn a bit about pain

Trevor, let's go

There's something about you and the hard black road

Something about tomorrow I don't know

Trevor, I know

You just want to ride the endless road

There's things about me you don't ever want to know

Trevor, I've misplaced the parts

That make this engine run

And I'm gonna have to learn a bit about pain