Marx - Suicidal Sundays Lyrics

Aw mate, what happened last night?
Nothing but a blur, events of a past life
My head's f*cking tanning and I feel like shite
And to make matters worse I'm at work tonight
Mike, alpha, romeo, x-ray
Why do I get pissed when I'm at work the next day?
Hungover to f*ck, sickness and a chest ache
Gouge out for the rest day would be the best way
This 12 hour shift'll just make me suicidal
Can't work on a Sunday, says so in the Bible
I could kill for a biff and a cup of tea
But I'm skint as can be, so I beg my Mother please
Do us a borrow so I can get a fry up
Reevaluate my life, convince myself to wise up
Begging for a day off 'cause my graft'd just be sloppy
Plus I'm dying for a bacon butty and a fat shotty
Besides, I'm wobbling, I can barely stand
Appearance worse than a tramp, Welly stamp on my hand
I believe the French call it mal aux cheveux
Consequences of poor decisions made the night before
Ring Kieren and Cory to establish the story
With all the details gory, guarantee they won't bore me
As per, I made an embarrassment of myself
Double vodka redbull, harassment of my health

I shoulda gone to work and got my debt paid off
If I carry on like this I'll probably get laid off
Payday blackouts, every single penny gone
My heads in bits, lips wrapped around a bong
'Cause I grafted Carol's daughter, like Steve Stoute
First thought on my mind is get your weed out
But I'm slow as f*ck, take the piss, I get sick quick
Whiteyed in the toilet and it's pure f*cking liquid
All on my shoes, pre-Monday blues
When I see the crew, it feels like watching the news
Gas about the night before, shit that I can't recall
Memories restored, and of course I'm not appalled
No surprise running round with my shirt off
If I was suicidal then, pft, now I'm worse off
Cringey texts don't wanna read, man I hate this
You might get your face licked must think I'm a rapist
The worst part is it's not even a shock
It's a regular occurrence I make myself look a cock
The only saving grace my mates all feel the pain
It's torture every weekend but we all stay the same
I think I'm the worst 'cause when the drink does its magic
I become another person and he's pure f*cking tragic
Not one girl I'm not tryna shaft
Everyone gets a turn, call me Grandmaster Graft
Nah, Callum'll have to come to the rescue
I just get on their nerves like phone calls from Res Q
George has nutted someone, Paddy's got kicked out
Wiggy's sparked up inside, Carrick's got his dick out
Ben and Steeley are steamed, I'm nowhere to be seen
On a one man mission to explore the whole scene
I wake and bake in the morning to escape the horror
That I'm skint, tragic and got work tomorrow