Sunday Dinner Goin' Down

Sunday Dinner Goin’ Down

Lyrics © 2010 by Archie Brodsky


(Song parody – set to the music of Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down”)


[Winner, Lyric Writing, 12th annual Great American Song Contest (2010)]


VERSE 1         That hot chipotle chutney

                        Late at night on Sunday

                        Knocked me silly

                        I might be doin’ better

                        With one less onion pepper

                        Steak from Philly

                        And the scented bathroom candle

                        Can’t seem to handle

                        Last night’s chili

                        So I close the door behind me

                        And lose myself in dreams of my next meal


CHORUS 1     It’s my Sunday night indulgence

                        Seven Sunday nights a week

                        And my weekend brunch fantasia

                        Forty pancakes at my peak

                        I’m cookin’ up those foot-longs

                        Longest ones in town

                        Keep the old exhaust fan running

                        Sunday dinner goin’ down


VERSE 2         I like my chicken fried or broiled or

                        Fricasseed or pulled or boiled—oh,

                        Make mine roasted

                        In the morning can I risk it?

                        Corned beef hash and biscuit

                        On whole wheat toasted

                        Now in every all-you-can-eat buffet

                        From Boston down to Biscayne Bay

                        My picture’s posted

                        So I peer in through the window

                        And wonder why they never let me in


CHORUS 1     [as above]


VERSE 3         Gulping gallons of Tofutti

                        That’s a sacred duty

                        I’m not shirking

                        But when fried eggs over easy

                        Start to make me queasy

                        Trouble’s lurking

                        When I get to feeling dismal                           

                        Better get some Pepto-Bismol

                        Out and working

                        So I stagger to the restroom

                        And clutch the cold linoleum for relief


CHORUS 2     It’s my Sunday night indulgence

                        It’s my Monday noon regret

                        All the food my aching tummy

                        Won’t let me forget

                        Don’t look in my direction

                        Or you’ll be seein’ one sick pup

                        Take your places at the table

                        Sunday dinner comin’ up