(Cash Savage)
Sunday morning and I'm coming down
Lying here with you
Close the window and come back to bed
There's nothing I'd rather do
Never been one for sleeping in
Felt like wasted time
Come back to bed my dear, my love
Lying here's mending my mind
We can dream of a time with a house of our own
With little ones to warm up the halls
Or laugh at the time we drank too much wine
And passed out cold on the floor
Oh my head is aching my dear, could you pass me two of them pills
One for the drink I put away last night
And one so I can lay here with you
Sunday morning and I'm coming down
Lying here with you
Close the window and come back to bed
There's nothing I'd rather do