Sunday Drivers - Carl Broemel

Sunday drivers stole my keys

Friendly fire tore my jeans

Oh, what in the world is happening to me?

Yeah, what in the world is happening to me?

I know you fall

When you’re trying to walk

And I know your faults

You’re perfectly wrong

Television with rabbit ears

Never really comes in clear

Fair weather, whether any time of year

Fair weather, whether any time of year

I know you fall

When you’re trying to walk

And I know your faults

You’re perfectly wrong, oh

In your own, in your own

In your own, in your own

In your own way

In your own, in your own

In your own, in your own

In your own way

Method actors pour my drinks

And tight rope walkers with two left feet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet

Are fair weather, whether everyone you meet