Another song from my one-man show about Tiny Tim, Tulip.
LYRICS:
Every Sunday morning Parson Poole
He walks to school he walks to school
He sits before class on at his desk and stool
To teach the golden rule the golden rule
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
Every Sunday morning Gillian Lark
She strolls the park she strolls the park
All the men there offer a cheery remark
But she pines for coachman mark
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
You read the papers and make yourself tea
Which you drink alone every day at three
And you toss out letters and disconnect the phone
And compose your epitaph: She lived alone
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
Every Sunday morning Marie Clair
She does her hair she does her hair
She affixes to her collar a bejeweled pear
And she pays a call on her Pierre
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
You eat alone inside your tiny little room
And primp and preen with makeup and perfume
You never lift the blind or go outside
And compose your epitaph: Alone she died
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
Every Sunday morning Danny Blue
He calls on you he call on you
He pounds at your day, he always do
Which you ignore, as he expects of you
Oh every Sunday morning
Oh every Sunday morning
posted by snsranch at 5:08 PM on June 23