Summer Sundays - Trip

Break out the take out

It’s ten past eight now

I swear the weather-man just said my name out

My beds covered in red wine stains and

She’s got kind off a meg ryan face to her

Search for my pen and pull out my rhyme book

Perch on the bed and add a few lines to it

She pulls me near and kisses me with sour breath

Whispering in my ear something 'bout the shower-head

This is like when Clarence and Alabama met

True romance that happened in a nano-sec

Broken curtain rails and chairs knocked over

And up the stairs I spy a trail of clothes I

Lie on my pillow exhale the smoke why

Open the window when the sex smells dope and

Off back to sleep she goes

I was wrong she looks more like a blonde Catherine Zeta-Jones

At last we picked a spot

Summer Sundays where the sun stays out past six o clock

She sun bathes I sit and watch her and some days

She looks in some ways like a…

So the airs rich with drink and perfume

My English version of Ingrid Bergman

I’m certain when I fall asleep she’s Rita Hayworth

But when I wake up she’s Elizabeth Taylor

She’s Jessica Rabbit, she’s double any bond girl

She’s Bridget Bardot she’s Marylyn Monroe

But the fact is though that’s not why I fell for her

'Cos no actress can act like she acts like herself

At last we picked a spot

Summer Sundays where the sun stays out past six o clock

She sunbathes I sit and watch her

And some days she looks in some ways like a…