Wake up without a blink
To an even pace where nothing moves
Except the pressure from a funky saturday
Dropping like bricks on my head
Or over the milkyway
Starlit electric beams had only just touched me
I must have dreamt myself astray
The only milkyway I have is in the middle of the day
 [bad word] 

Somedays are better than somedays
Good sundays are better than somedays
Today I’d even take a bad monday
Cause this sunday’s a pure pressure inside of me

Danced till my feet were blue
To erase the thoughts I just remember you
Tears lost in the turn of the years
Return on days like this
Kissing in the sunrays
I knew that it was sunday
Cause my memory’s like blueprint in my head
 [bad word] 

(and the little rap says)
Give me grits and eggs give me ham and bacon
And a pancake with some maple [bad word] 
Cause it is sunday
(God knows what the dogs are saying)
We made it [bad word] ...maybe