Words & Music © Martin Craig
All Rights Reserved.

Lyrics

I got home at six-am
And something doesn't fit
The back door was on the latch
The outside lamp was lit
I crawled in bed beside you
But still something wasn't right
There's grease on my pillow
And I wasn't home last night
There's grease on my pillow
And I wasn't home last night

The Gold Star's been running rough
And I need time to think
Billy's wedding was bad enough
Don't offer me a drink
I know you're trying to sleep
And I don't want another fight
But there's grease on my pillow
And I wasn't home last night
There's grease on my pillow
And I wasn't home last night

I know you said those flying boots
Came from a jumble sale
But what about that leather jacket
Hanging on my rail?

Just before I came to bed
I looked out at the rain
Thought I saw a Bonneville
Pull out of our back lane
You needn't bother waking up for me
I get the point
There's grease on my pillow
And my nose is out of joint
There's grease on my pillow
And my nose is out of joint

There's grease on my pillow
And my nose is out of joint
There's grease on my pillow
And my nose is out of joint