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