Well, I woke up Sunday morning
with no way to hold my head.
And the beer I had for breakfast
so I had one more for dessert.
And I fumbled in my closet,
and found my cleanest, dirtiest shirt
Then I washed my face and
stumbled down the stairs to greet the day
I smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs
And I lied my first and watched
Cussin' out a can that he'd been kickin'
I crossed the empty street
and caught the country smell
of someone cookin' chicken
And it took me back to somethin'
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes the body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
And a Sunday mornin' comin' down
I saw a daddy with a laughin' little girl
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
to listen to the song that they were singin'.
I headed on toward a home somewhere
And heard a lonely bell a -ringin'
And it echoed in the canyon
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
