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• Artiste: Trip
• Titre: Summer Sundays
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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 ryhme book Perch on the bed and add a few lines to it She pulls me near and kisses me with sour breath Whispeing 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 thats 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..