Trish Murphy - Sunday lyrics

There's a shoot-out at the Eye-hop Between a forth ward kid and a third shift cop Two time losers drinking coffee And no one saw a thing Crank out, crack out, it's hard to tell But you can't see his face now too well He can in empty handed with a gun stuck in his jeans And the cop orders the New York club So the waitress steps around the blood The last reminding sliver of some South flying dream Now the cops are telling jokes About some who*e-house near Fair Oaks And the rhinos shuffle past The last to survey the scene And in an hour and a quarter All their paper work's in order So they finish off their pancakes While the floor is getting cleaned And a body car arrives and takes... And they're taking down the yellow tape And they'll all get home before daybreak Like Sunday in New Orleans And the cop orders the New York club So the waitress steps around the blood The last remaining sliver of some South flying dream Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm Oooh, oooh, ooooh