6:15 at Mexicali Rose, Every Thursday

Things get pretty stupid in a courtroom Just like things get pretty stupid in a life I put a 19-year-old back in jail Instead of at home with his kid and wife I can see for miles from my high-rise I can scroll my phone and eat alone And I can count the hours until I see you 6:15 at Mexicali Rose Every Thursday night I pull up a chair, you count your till And give me hell for how I pay my bills You're right, but whose worse? Pushing booze ain't exactly missionary work Silence turns to laughter as sunset fades away I always never tell you You're the only person that I like these days 6:15 at Mexicali Rose Every Thursday night