Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt and the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes I found my cleanest dirty shirt then I washed my face and combed my hair, stumbled down the stairs to greet the day
Well I smoked my mind the night before on cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking then I lit my first and watched a small boy cussin' at a can that he was kicking then I crossed the empty street, caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken and it took me back to something that I lost somewhere somehow along the way
CHORUS: On a Sunday morning sidewalk (I'm) wishing, Lord, that I was stoned Cause there's somethin' 'bout a Sunday that makes a body feel alone and there ain't nothin' short of dying half as lonesome as the sound of a sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down
In a park I saw a Daddy with a laughing little girl that he was swinging and I stopped beside a Sunday school, listened to the songs that they was singing And then, far away, I heard a lonely bell a-ringin'