Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down Hank Snow

Well I woke up Sunday morning
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
With cigarettes and songs
That I've been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussin' at a can that he was kickin'

Then I crossed the empty street and
Caught the sunday smell
Of someone fryin' chicken
And it took me back to something
That I'd lost somehow
Somewhere along the way