(Sinclair) Every Sunday morning, before daybreak Down upon the farm, on the fishpond All the little ducks, they go paddling Look out goldfish your for breakfast Sunday morning hear the churchbells ringing High up in the trees the birds were singing In the dewey grass spiders spinning Rooster calls and cocks his doodle All around the farm animals stirring Through the morning mist the bulls are beefing In the grassy meadows cows are munching Daisy Bell it's time for milking There's such a lot to be done on the farm In the sunshine, and when it's lunchtime It's hop down the pub for a pint Back on the tractor to finish the plowing Standing all alone, Fred the scarecrow Hasn't got a clue how the wheat grows Doesn't mind the rain, hates the cold though Specially when those icewinds blow snow All along the lane, bees are buzzing Little furry things in hedgerows scurrying In amongst the corn the bunnies are bouncing Must have springs upon their feet Behind the cowshed The plowman is taking a peek At the farmer's daughter Who's hanging her undies in the sun Better get on your boots and join us Down on the farm Down here on the farm It's a lovely day for country walking The vicar's on his bike, Billy's skateboarding The farmer and his dog out back shooting The gun goes off and hits the tweeting (or: its stopped tweeting) Lots of smelly stinks around the farmyard Great big pile of sh..t behind the rhubarb Sitting in his pram, baby bunting Does a *BURP* and starts his grunting Give him a drink, he's gone pink Wants his mummy, needs changing I think Such a lot can be done on the farm In the sunshine And when it's lunchtime It's hop down the pub for a pint Sneak out the backway with Nelly the barmaid To the woods Andrew Latimer Guitar Peter Bardens Keyboards Richard Sinclair Lead Vocals, Bass Mel Collins Flute Andy Ward Drums
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