(Difford/Tilbrook)  

  

When the hangover strikes  

And I open my post  

And the coffee is on  

And I'm burning my toast  

I let the battle commence  

I see a sun in the trees  

And a draught at the door  

With my head in my lap  

There's a day to explore  

But I'm left without sense  

As the hangover strikes  

And I turn on the tap  

But the water's too loud  

And I'm caged by the fact  

That the battle's not lost  

Is it the hair of the dog  

Or the Baa of a Lamb  

In a sheepish attempt  

To be half of the man  

That I might be or was  



When the hangover strikes  

And a mirror reveals  

That it's Midnight or bust  

And a drink does appeal  

Now the battle is won  

So the cure of the can  

Pours its heart out on me  

Though I'm feeling locked up  

But I can't find the key  

Well no damage was done  



Poor poor poor, poor shaken one  

Pour pour pour, pour me another one