| As I woke up Sunday mornin'
|
| With no way to hold my head
|
| That didn’t hurt
|
| And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad
|
| So I had one more dessert
|
| Then I fumbled through my closet
|
| For my cloths
|
| And found my cleanest dirty shirt
|
| And I shaved my face
|
| And combed my hair
|
| Stumbled down the stairs
|
| To meet the day
|
| Well I smoked my brain, the night before
|
| With cigarettes and songs
|
| That I’ve been pickin'
|
| And I lit my first to watch the small kid
|
| Cussin' at a can that he was kickin'
|
| Then I cross the empty street
|
| And caught the Sunday smell of
|
| Someone fryin' chicken
|
| And it took me back to somethin'
|
| That I lost somehow
|
| Somewhere along the way
|
| On the Sunday mornin' sidewalk
|
| Wishin' lord that I was stoned
|
| Cause there’s somethin' in a Sunday
|
| That makes a body feel alone
|
| And there’s nothin' short of dyin'
|
| Half as lonesome as the sound
|
| On the sleepin' city sidewalk
|
| Sunday mornin' comin' down
|
| In the park I saw a daddy
|
| With a laughin' little girl
|
| He was swingin'
|
| And I stopped beside the Sunday school
|
| And listened to the song
|
| That they were singin'
|
| Then I headed back for home
|
| And somewhere far away
|
| A lonely bell was ringin'
|
| And it echoed thru the canyon like
|
| The disappearin' dreams of yesterday
|
| On the Sunday mornin' sidewalk
|
| Wishin' lord that I was stoned
|
| Cause there’s somethin' in a Sunday
|
| That makes a body feel alone
|
| And there’s nothin' short of dyin'
|
| Half as lonesome as the sound
|
| On the sleepin' city sidewalk
|
| Sunday mornin' comin' down
|
| On the sleepin' city sidewalk
|
| Sunday mornin' comin' down |