|
When the hangover strikes |
|
And I open my post |
|
And the coffee is on |
|
And I'm burning my toast |
|
I let the battle commence |
|
I see a sun in the trees |
|
And a draught at the door |
|
With my head in my lap |
|
Theres a day to explore |
|
But I'm left without sense |
|
As the hangover strikes |
|
And I turn on the tap |
|
But the waters too loud |
|
And I'm caged by the fact |
|
That the battles not lost |
|
Is it the hair of the dog |
|
Or the baa of a lamb |
|
In a sheepish attempt |
|
To be half of the man |
|
That I might be or was |
|
|
|
When the hangover strikes |
|
And a mirror reveals |
|
That its midnight or bust |
|
And a drink does appeal |
|
Now the battle is won |
|
So the cure of the can |
|
Pours its heart out on me |
|
Though I'm feeling locked up |
|
But I cant find the key |
|
Well no damage was done |
|
|
|
Poor poor poor, poor shaken one |
|
Pour pour pour, pour me another one |
