Well, I call you up on the phone nobodys at home.
Then I do my usual thing I let the telephone ring and ring and ring.
Im standing at a phone booth, coping with the ugly truth.
You see, I know where you are… I know where you are.
Youre down drinking at the bar.
I can picture you there on that stool, drinking like a drunken fool.
Yeah, youre sitting there on your ass, muttering into your glass.
Paying for your lowlife thrills with wet quarters and soggy one dollar bills.
I know where you are, baby.
Youre down drinking at the bar.
Dean Martins on the jukebox, I bet.
Or maybe its Tammy Wynette.
The tearjerkers are jerking your tears.
Salt water in your whiskey and your beers.
Youve got the Miller High Life bouncing balls.
Youve got the Utica Club waterfalls.
I know where you are, oh ho.
Youre down at the bar.
Youre down at the bar.
Go ahead get drunk, its alright.
Lost weekend on a Tuesday night.
But Im going to have to give you the score
Im not going to call you up on the telephone no more.
Im sick and tired of listening to that phone ring 15 times.
Im sick and tired of getting back my dimes!
Because I know what you are.
Youre at sot, thats what you are.
I know what you are.
Youre a lush.
You got a big red nose!
I know where you are, baby.
I know where you are…
Youre down drinking at the bar.