Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
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And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad so I had one more for desert
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Then I fumbled in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt
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And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
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Well I'd smoked my brain the night before
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With cigarettes and songs that'd I'd been pickin'
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But I lit my first and watched the small kid cussin' at a can that he was kicking
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Then I crossed the empty street
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And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken
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And it took me back to something that I've lost somehow somewhere along the way
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On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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wishing Lord that I was stoned
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Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone
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And there's nothing short of dying that passes lonesome as the sound
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Of the sleeping city sidewalk
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on Sunday morning coming down
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In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl he was swingin'
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school
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And listened to the song that they were singin'
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Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'
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And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
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On a Sunday morning sidewalk..
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On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned
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Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone
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And there's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound
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Of the sleeping city sidewalk
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on Sunday morning coming down
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Sunday Morning Coming Down
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Nat Stuckey |