CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : The Day Off
Taking the day on Sunday
After the dreary week is dead
Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead
Everyone's on display on Sunday
The day off
Bonnet flapping
Bustle sliding
Like a rocking horse that nobody's been riding
There's a daisy
And some clover
And that interesting fellow looking over
Nurse!
One day is much like any other
Listening to her snap and drone
Still, Sunday with someone's dotty mother
Is better than Sunday with your own
Mothers may drone, mothers may whine
Tending to his, though, is perfectly fine
It pays for the nurse that is tending to mine
On Sunday
My day off
You know, Franz, I believe that artist is drawing us.
Huh? Who?
Monsieur's friend.
Monsieur would never think to draw us. We are only people he looks down upon.
Second bottle
Ah, she looks for me
He is bursting to go
Near the fountain
I could let him
How to manage it?
No
I should have been an artist. I was never intended for work.
Oh, artists work, Franz. I believe they work very hard.
Work? We work.
(sung)
We serve their food
We carve their meat
We tend to their house
We polish their
Silverware
The food we serve
We also eat
For them we rush
Wash and brush
Wipe and wax
Franz, relax
While he "creates"
We scrape their plates
We dust their knickknacks
Hundreds to the shelf
Work is what you do for others
Liebchen
Art is what you do for yourself
Look.
Where?
Soldiers.
Alone.
What did I tell you?
Well, they'll never talk to us if we fish. Why don't–
It's a beautiful day for fishing.
What do you think? I like the one in the light hat.
Mademoiselles
I and my friend
We are but soldiers
Pa**ing the time
In between wars
For weeks at an end
Both of them are perfect.
You can have the other.
I don't want the other.
I don't want the other either.
And after a week
Spent mostly indoors
With nothing but soldiers
Ladies, I and my friend
Trust we will not offend
Which we'd never intend
By suggesting we spend
Oh, spend
This magnificent Sunday
Oh, Sunday
With you and your friend
The one on the right's an awful bore
He's been in a war
We may get a meal and we might get more
It's certainly fine for Sunday
It's certainly fine for Sunday
It's certainly fine for Sunday
You and me, pal
We're the loonies
Did you know that?
Bet you didn't know that
'Cause we tell them the truth
Who you drawing?
Who the hell you think you're drawing?
Me?
You don't know me
Go on drawing
Since you're drawing only what you wanna see
Anyway
One eye, no illusion
That you get with two
One for what is true
One for what suits you
Draw your own conclusion
All you artists do
I see what is true
(spoken)
Sitting there, looking everyone up and down. Studying every move like you see something different, like your eyes know more.
(sung)
You and me, pal
We're society's fault
Taking the day on Sunday
After another week is dead
Nurse!
Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead
Nurse!
Leaving the city pressure
Behind you
Off where the air is fresher
Where green, blue
Blind you
After the dreary week is dead
Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead
Everyone's on display on Sunday
The day off
Bonnet flapping
Bustle sliding
Like a rocking horse that nobody's been riding
There's a daisy
And some clover
And that interesting fellow looking over
Nurse!
One day is much like any other
Listening to her snap and drone
Still, Sunday with someone's dotty mother
Is better than Sunday with your own
Mothers may drone, mothers may whine
Tending to his, though, is perfectly fine
It pays for the nurse that is tending to mine
On Sunday
My day off
You know, Franz, I believe that artist is drawing us.
Huh? Who?
Monsieur's friend.
Monsieur would never think to draw us. We are only people he looks down upon.
Second bottle
Ah, she looks for me
He is bursting to go
Near the fountain
I could let him
How to manage it?
No
I should have been an artist. I was never intended for work.
Oh, artists work, Franz. I believe they work very hard.
Work? We work.
(sung)
We serve their food
We carve their meat
We tend to their house
We polish their
Silverware
The food we serve
We also eat
For them we rush
Wash and brush
Wipe and wax
Franz, relax
While he "creates"
We scrape their plates
We dust their knickknacks
Hundreds to the shelf
Work is what you do for others
Liebchen
Art is what you do for yourself
Look.
Where?
Soldiers.
Alone.
What did I tell you?
Well, they'll never talk to us if we fish. Why don't–
It's a beautiful day for fishing.
What do you think? I like the one in the light hat.
Mademoiselles
I and my friend
We are but soldiers
Pa**ing the time
In between wars
For weeks at an end
Both of them are perfect.
You can have the other.
I don't want the other.
I don't want the other either.
And after a week
Spent mostly indoors
With nothing but soldiers
Ladies, I and my friend
Trust we will not offend
Which we'd never intend
By suggesting we spend
Oh, spend
This magnificent Sunday
Oh, Sunday
With you and your friend
The one on the right's an awful bore
He's been in a war
We may get a meal and we might get more
It's certainly fine for Sunday
It's certainly fine for Sunday
It's certainly fine for Sunday
You and me, pal
We're the loonies
Did you know that?
Bet you didn't know that
'Cause we tell them the truth
Who you drawing?
Who the hell you think you're drawing?
Me?
You don't know me
Go on drawing
Since you're drawing only what you wanna see
Anyway
One eye, no illusion
That you get with two
One for what is true
One for what suits you
Draw your own conclusion
All you artists do
I see what is true
(spoken)
Sitting there, looking everyone up and down. Studying every move like you see something different, like your eyes know more.
(sung)
You and me, pal
We're society's fault
Taking the day on Sunday
After another week is dead
Nurse!
Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead
Nurse!
Leaving the city pressure
Behind you
Off where the air is fresher
Where green, blue
Blind you
