| Sunday, Sunday, here again in tidy attire
|
| You read the colour supplement, the TV guide
|
| You dream of protein on a plate
|
| Regret you left it quite so late
|
| To gather the family around the table
|
| To eat enough to sleep
|
| Oh, the Sunday sleep
|
| Sunday, Sunday, here again, a walk in the park
|
| You meet an old soldier and talk of the past
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| He fought for us in two World Wars
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| Says the England he knew is now no more
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| He sings the Songs of Praise every week
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| But always falls asleep
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| For a Sunday sleep, but he knows what he knows
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| Sunday, Sunday
|
| La-la, la-la, la-la-la-la
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| La-la, la-la, la-la-la-la
|
| La-la, la-la, la-la-la-la
|
| La-la, la-la, la-la
|
| Oh, the Sunday sleep
|
| Sunday, Sunday, here again in tidy attire
|
| You read the colour supplement, the TV guide
|
| You dream of protein on a plate
|
| Regret you left it quite so late
|
| To gather the family around the table
|
| To eat enough to sleep
|
| And Mother’s pride’s your epithet
|
| That extra slice you’ll soon regret
|
| So going out is your best bet
|
| Then bingo yourself to sleep
|
| Oh, that Sunday sleep |