Lyrics Summer Sundays - Trip

Summer Sundays

Break out the take out
It’s ten past eight now
I swear the weather-man just said my name out
My beds covered in red wine stains and
She’s got kind off a meg ryan face to her
Search for my pen and pull out my rhyme book
Perch on the bed and add a few lines to it
She pulls me near and kisses me with sour breath
Whispering in my ear something 'bout the shower-head
This is like when Clarence and Alabama met
True romance that happened in a nano-sec
Broken curtain rails and chairs knocked over
And up the stairs I spy a trail of clothes I
Lie on my pillow exhale the smoke why
Open the window when the sex smells dope and
Off back to sleep she goes
I was wrong she looks more like a blonde Catherine Zeta-Jones
At last we picked a spot
Summer Sundays where the sun stays out past six o clock
She sun bathes I sit and watch her and some days
She looks in some ways like a…
So the airs rich with drink and perfume
My English version of Ingrid Bergman
I’m certain when I fall asleep she’s Rita Hayworth
But when I wake up she’s Elizabeth Taylor
She’s Jessica Rabbit, she’s double any bond girl
She’s Bridget Bardot she’s Marylyn Monroe
But the fact is though that’s not why I fell for her
'Cos no actress can act like she acts like herself
At last we picked a spot
Summer Sundays where the sun stays out past six o clock
She sunbathes I sit and watch her
And some days she looks in some ways like a…