Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well 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, for dessert

Then I fumbled through my closet, for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt

And I shaved my face and combed my hair and, stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before on, cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin'