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Atlantic City

de John Anderson

Well they used to call him Zero cause he never made his mark
And when he took up with a tramp like her all the people laughed
And fate just seemed to find them on a one way losing streak
Between the two they lived their lives trapped on a dead end street
Well a man gets tired of zero and a woman hates that scorn
And if time would allow they'd made those fools wish they were never born

Oh how come it feels like Sunday each day of your life
Some of us have to make a name before we're satisfied
Oh and how come it feels like Monday seven days a week
Work your fingers to the bone just to make ends meet

Well the bank job wasn't easy no they'd left a couple dead
And when the headlines hit the stands that day twas Zero and the tramp they said
Now it looks like they've got a man hunt for a couple of crazy kids
And they both got just what they want it was a price upon their heads
The more they kept on running the more they fell in love
Cause when you live your life outside the law you need that kind of trust

Oh how come it feels like Sunday...
[ fiddle ]
Sometimes the nights get colder and the dreams can chill your bones
And it was on a night like this that they came too close to home
They were caught up in the crossfire of a swat team's finest hour
And went down in a blaze of automatic fire
Crying hey we've really made it now

Oh how come it feels like Sunday...
Work your fingers to the bone just to make ends meet

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