Phone & Rock - Sunday [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Sundays come i don't know what i've done
My friends all hate me and i know why

Cause i'm a mongrel
A grubber
A fuckin' piss head

But you're an asshole
A dunce hat
A dead shit drop kick

Sunday, i feel so fuckin' scummy cunt
Old mate, let's get some fuckin' beer and that
Ciggies, and 3/4 pants
Because my mum still dresses me
And i'm turning 33

[Chorus]

On sunday, my head is swollen eyes are black
I'm coughing up my lungs i start to hack
This binge has gone too long to ever turn out well for you
My bowels are leaking poo and wee
And all signs point to misery cause


[Chorus]

Sunday, it feels like i've been torn apart
Old mate, can I get some mercy man
Ciggies, i need a few packs at least
Because my mum she dresses me
My middle name is misery


[Chorus]

Sunday, there's yack all in the sink again
Old mate, can ya pass the buey man
Right now, i could pack it to the sky
Cause i need some therapy
And then my mum who dresses me

I wake up, shit eating grin is plastered on my face
Not long 'til it's gone though cause we trashed the fucking place
Say good morning to old girl, she tells me to eat shit
I dont know just why she hates me, but
These pants mum bought are sik

[Chorus]

A dead set grubby cunt