| The birds don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They fly and sing and feed their young, |
| The fish don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They never change their clothes. |
| The bees don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They tote and store and go for more, |
| The bees don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| And neither does the rose. |
| The grandpa clock it goes tick tock, |
| It seems to know an awful lot, |
| The calendars state the day and date, |
| They’re very seldom wrong. |
| But the rabbit needs no dinner chime, |
| And the ducks know when it’s summer time, |
| And any day is fine for play |
| And fine to sing along. |
| The birds don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They fly and sing and feed their young, |
| The fish don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They never change their clothes. |
| The bees don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| They tote and store and go for more, |
| The bees don’t know it’s Sunday, |
| And neither does the rose. |