In the corner of the bar there stands a jukebox．　With the best of country music, old and new．　You can hear your five selections for a quarter．　And somebody else's songs when yours are through．　I got good Kentucky whiskey on the counter．　And my friends around to help me ease the pain　．　'Til some button-pushing cowboy plays that love song．　And here I am just missing you again．　Please, Mr., please, don't play B-17．　It was our song, it was his song, but it's over．　Please, Mr., please, if you know what I mean．　I don't ever wanna hear that song again．　If I had a dime for every time I held you．　Though you're far away, you've been so close to me．　I could swear I'd be the richest girl in Nashville．　Maybe even in the state of Tennessee．　But I guess I'd better get myself together．　'Cause when you left, you didn't leave too much behind．　Just a note that said "I'm sorry" by your picture．　And a song that's weighing heavy on my mind．　Please, Mr., please, don't play B-17．　It was our song, it was his song, but it's over．　Please, Mr., please, if you know what I mean．　I don't ever wanna hear that song again．