C                            
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
         F              G               C   G
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
         C                              Am
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
                          G
So I had one more for dessert.
        C                                F
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
             G                C    Am
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
        F                  G
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
    F                  C                 D
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.


      C
I'd smoked my brain the night before on
F             G               C      G
cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
      C                                     Am
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
                               G
Cussin at a can that he was kicking.
        C
Then I walked across the street
               F                G               C     Am
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
             F                    G              F
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow
G                    C
Somewhere along the way.


                     F
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
                               C
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
                              G
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
                        C
That makes a body feel alone.
                             F
And there's nothing short a' dying
                               C
That's half as lonesome as the sound
                      G
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
                          C    G
And Sunday morning coming down

        C
In the park I saw a daddy
         F              G               C        G
With a laughing little girl who he was swinging.
       C                            Am
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
                                    G
And listened to the songs they were singing.
       C                                     F         
Then I headed down the street and somewhere far away 
   G              C      Am
a lonely bell was ringing
       F                  G
And it echoed through the canyon
         F            G         C
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

                     F
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
                               C
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
                              G
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
                        C
That makes a body feel alone.
                             F
And there's nothing short a' dying
                               C
That's half as lonesome as the sound
                      G
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
                          C    G
And Sunday morning coming down