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 Poor poor, poor shaken one Pour pour, pour me another one 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 to me Though I'm feeling locked up But I can't find the key Well no damage was done Poor poor, poor shaken one Pour pour, pour me another one