Words and music by Stewart Copeland
(spoken: The other ones are complete bullshit)
(One Sunday morning)(? Should be: You want something corny?)
You got it.
There's a house on my street
And it looks real neat
I'm the chap who lives in it
There's a tree on the sidewalk
There's a car by the door
I'll go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
He'll look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be O.K. on any other day
And it would be O.K. on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I don't know what's wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
I'm covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be O.K. on any other day
And it would be O.K. on any other day
And it would be O.K. on any other day
(repeat to fade)
The Bed's Too Big Without You/Contact
The Bed's Too Big Without You
Words and music by Sting
Bed's too big without you
Cold wind blows right thru' my open door
I can't sleep with your memory
Dreaming dreams of what used to be
When she left I was cold inside
That look on my face was just pride
No regrets no love no tears
Living on my own was the least of my fears
Bed's too big without you
The bed's too big without you
The bed's too big
Without you
Since that day when you'd gone
Just had too (sic) carry on
I get thru' day but late at night
Made love to my pillow but it didn't feel right
Every day, just the same
Old rules for the same old game
All I gained was heartache
All I made was one mistake
Now the bed's too big without you
The bed's too big without you
The bed's too big
Without you
(Bed's too big without you
The bed's too big without you
The bed's too big without you
Without you
Without you)
Contact
Words and music by Stewart Copeland
I've got a lump in my throat about the note you wrote
I'd come on over but I haven't got a raincoat
Have we got contact
You and me?
Have we got touchdown
Can't we be?
I've got contacts in my book and in my eyes
My good connection on the telephone never lies
Have we got contact
You and me?
Have we got touchdown
Can't we be?