(DiffordTilbrook)



When the hangover strikes

And I open my post

And the coffee is on

And I'm burning my toast

I let the battle commence

I see a sun in the trees

And a draught at the door

With my head in my lap

There's a day to explore

But I'm left without sense

As the hangover strikes

And I turn on the tap

But the water's too loud

And I'm caged by the fact

That the battle's not lost

Is it the hair of the dog

Or the Baa of a Lamb

In a sheepish attempt

To be half of the man

That I might be or was



When the hangover strikes

And a mirror reveals

That it's Midnight or bust

And a drink does appeal

Now the battle is won

So the cure of the can

Pours its heart out on me

Though I'm feeling locked up

But I can't find the key

Well no damage was done



Poor poor poor, poor shaken one

Pour pour pour, pour me another one