The Problem With Your Car

You want to know
The problem with your car?

I can tell you
The problem with your car

The problem with your car
Is that your husband is treating it
The way he treats you

You are a beautiful
Sexy, brilliant woman
And you are being treated
The same way as your poor
Abused, run-down vehicle
Is being treated

That man is taking you over speed bumps
He is taking you down dirt roads
He is treating you like a Humvee
And you are not made for that

He's taking turns too hard
He's banging on the steering wheel
I don't even want to tell you
What I think he's doing in the back seat
On the nights he BIG QUOTES 'works late'

Can I be honest?

I can tell some things by looking at you
And looking at your car
And lately
They're one and the same

Your oil is not getting changed
Your tires are not being rotated
Your brakes...

God, woman
Your brakes

You know what needs to happen
To those brakes

You're not being serviced
Not at all

You drop your car off here
And it's sad
It's a sad car

And you're sad
Because your car is rundown
And your husband is an asshole

So I think you need to give me those keys
Tell your husband the car got stolen
And start writing the Dear John letter now

Because one day you're going to find yourself
On the side of the highway
Looking through your trunk
To find a spare and a jack
And you'll be crying
And passing drivers will look at you and laugh
And you'll throw yourself into oncoming traffic
Rather than continue on with your sham of a life

It's going to happen, ma'am

As sure as this engine
Is as solid as Velveeta cheese at the moment
It's pretty damn certain
That your car's not going to make it
And neither are you
If some things don't change

Namely, the person you let do the driving

Because the problem with your car
Is that I'm not the one in the driver's seat