Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

And I shaved my face and combed my hair And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day I'd smoked my brain the night before on Cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin' But I lit my first and watched a small kid Cussin' at a can that he was kicking Then I crossed the empty street And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken And it took me back to somethin' That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way On the Sunday morning sidewalks Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned