Sammy Kershaw Every Third Monday Lyrics
He calls it business, and he calls the number of a woman he knows all too well.
Every third Monday when his wife packs his suitcase, he looks her straight in the eye.
Every third Monday he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie.
Back home in Atlanta, in a cafe for lovers, she slips off her gold wedding ring.
To a stranger in a back booth, she whispers I'd love to.
Two can play at this old cheatin' game.
Every third Monday, she packs his suitcase, she looks him straight in the eye.
Every third Monday, she finds a new way to tell him that same old lie.
Every third Monday, he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie.