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When the hangover strikes |
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And I open my post |
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And the coffee is on |
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And I'm burning my toast |
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I let the battle commence |
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I see a sun in the trees |
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And a draught at the door |
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With my head in my lap |
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Theres a day to explore |
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But I'm left without sense |
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As the hangover strikes |
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And I turn on the tap |
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But the waters too loud |
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And I'm caged by the fact |
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That the battles not lost |
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Is it the hair of the dog |
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Or the baa of a lamb |
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In a sheepish attempt |
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To be half of the man |
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That I might be or was |
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|
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When the hangover strikes |
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And a mirror reveals |
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That its midnight or bust |
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And a drink does appeal |
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Now the battle is won |
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So the cure of the can |
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Pours its heart out on me |
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Though I'm feeling locked up |
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But I cant find the key |
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Well no damage was done |
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|
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Poor poor poor, poor shaken one |
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Pour pour pour, pour me another one |