Every Third Monday - Sammy Kershaw

He drives to Charlotte, every third Monday, and checks into the Twelve Oaks

Motel

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