PAYCHEQUES – TEX PERKINS
D G D G D G A x 2
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Friday's for funerals, Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
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Coz on weekends, I perform miracles, I turn paycheques into wine
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One working weeks wage at a time
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Well maybe it's time, we're getting' on home, the sun is hangin' low in the sky
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And the wine in my head, turns to lurid thoughts
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And it disorganises my mind, But I seem to be that way inclined
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Woo and, all these girls, they tempt me lord, with their long and flowing hair
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But I only ask for the one I've lost, Who's perfume still fills the air
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Well it's more than I can bare
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Should I go hungry, leave it alone , or make it back home to my bed
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And the merciful sleep, of a drunken man
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And drown all the things that she said, from goin' round and round in my head
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Friday's for funerals, Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
D G D G Bm A G
Coz on weekends, I perform miracles, I turn paycheques into wine
Bm A D G D G
One working weeks wage at a time
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And in the mornin', as shadows fall longer, I sink back deep in my chair
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And I fall into a reverie, imaginin' that she's there
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But it's more than I can bare
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Well if Friday's for funerals and Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
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On weekends, I perform miracles, by turnin' paycheques into wine
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Memories of her into wine