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