I was riding shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his carHe's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heartLook around, turn the radio down, he says, baby, something's wrongI say nothing, I was just thinking how we don't have a songAnd he says, our song is a slip-screen door, it's sticking out way top and on your windowWell, we're on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it's late and your mama don't knowOur song is the way you left the first day that I didn't kiss her and I should haveAnd when I got home, before I said amen, asking God if he could play it againI was walking out the front porch steps after everything that dayI'd gone gone and wrong, I'd been trampled on and lost and thrown awayI got to the hallway, well, on my way to my loving bedI almost didn't notice all the roses and the note that saidOur song is a slip-screen door, it's sticking out way top and on your windowWell, we're on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it's late and your mama don't knowOur song is the way you left the first day that I didn't kiss her and I should haveAnd when I got home, before I said amen, asking God if he could play it againAnd I've heard her every album, listened to the radioWaiting for something to come along that was as good as our songCause our song is a slip-screen door, it's sticking out way top and on his windowWell, we're on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it's late and your mama don't knowOur song is the way you left the first day that I didn't kiss her and I should haveAnd when I got home, before I said amen, asking God if he could play it againOh, oh, play it again, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh, yeah, yeah, ohI was wearing a shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his carI grabbed a pen and an old napkin and I wrote down our song