Where in the Hell Did You Go With My Toothbrush

You didn’t leave a bar of soap when you left me.
You didn’t even leave a towel so I could dry my face.
You didn’t even leave a plate for me to eat on.
But you left all my empty beer cans all over the place.
You didn’t leave my precious black and white TV set.
You took the Jimi Hendrix poster that was on my door.
You left with my very best friend — our dog Smokey.
But I found all the unpaid bills on the kitchen floor.
And where in the hell did you go with my toothbrush?
And where in the hell did you happen to spend last night?
You didn’t leave a bar of soap when you left me.
And you didn’t even tell me they was turning out the lights.
-- Guitar solo --
You didn’t leave my little five dollar alarm clock.
You didn’t even leave a note; I guess it’s all been said.
You didn’t even leave the cushions for the sofa.
And now that I’m used to the couch, you left the bed.
And where in the hell did you go with my toothbrush?
And where in the hell have you been for the last three days?
You didn’t leave a bar of soap when you left me.
And you didn’t stick around to see the teardrops on my face.