| Buried alive hoping to survive
|
| 'Til the weekend
|
| Can’t write the song
|
| Struggle all week long
|
| Bitter blue
|
| But up on the roof we are living proof
|
| Love’s nutritious
|
| Such delicious déjà vu
|
| Sunday morning here with you
|
| Your kisses made with orange marmalade
|
| Apple blossoms toast and tea
|
| I cannot think of any place I’d rather
|
| I’d rather be
|
| My sleepy friend I always want to spend
|
| Sunday morning here with you
|
| I cannot think of anything I’d rather
|
| I’d rather do
|
| Lounging in bed Sunday papers read
|
| Windows open
|
| First day of spring hear the kettle sing
|
| Tea for two
|
| Lady in lace sunlight on your face
|
| Quite an eyeful
|
| Such delightful déjà vu
|
| Sunday morning here with you
|
| Your kisses made with orange marmalade
|
| Apple blossoms toast and tea
|
| I cannot think of any place I’d rather
|
| I’d rather be
|
| My sleepy friend I always want to spend
|
| Sunday morning here with you
|
| I cannot think of anything I’d rather
|
| I’d rather do
|
| I’d rather, I’d rather do
|
| I’d rather do |