phone & rock – sunday lyrics
sundays come i don’t know what i’ve done
my friends all hate me and i know why
cause i’m a mongrel
a grubber
a f-ckin’ p-ss head
but you’re an -ssh0l-
a dunce hat
a dead sh-t drop kick
sunday, i feel so f-ckin’ sc-mmy c-nt
old mate, let’s get some f-ckin’ beer and that
ciggies, and 3/4 pants
because my mum still dresses me
and i’m turning 33
[chorus]
on sunday, my head is swollen eyes are black
i’m coughing up my lungs i start to hack
this binge has gone too long to ever turn out well for you
my bowels are leaking poo and wee
and all signs point to misery cause
[chorus]
sunday, it feels like i’ve been torn apart
old mate, can i get some mercy man
ciggies, i need a few packs at least
because my mum she dresses me
my middle name is misery
[chorus]
sunday, there’s yack all in the sink again
old mate, can ya p-ss the buey man
right now, i could pack it to the sky
cause i need some therapy
and then my mum who dresses me
i wake up, sh-t eating grin is plastered on my face
not long ’til it’s gone though cause we trashed the f-cking place
say good morning to old girl, she tells me to eat sh-t
i dont know just why she hates me, but
these pants mum bought are sik
[chorus]
a dead set grubby c-nt
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