Every Sunday Afternoon

I whistle like a lark when I am strolling in the park
Every Sunday afternoon
I sometimes meet a girl, she is a real good sport
There's only one thing wrong with her, her skirt is rather short
We walk about a bit and then we sit down on a seat
And when it's dark we have a little spoon
Now she's the girl that men forget, 'cause she wills a bassinet
Every Sunday (that's alright, when I'm sitting there and I)
Now everybody calls me very cheeky
A quieter lad you will not find around
Contented with the simple things in this life
There's only one place where I'm always found
I whistle like a lark when I am strolling in the park
Every Sunday afternoon
I sometimes bring the wife some violets are blue
She says, "A funny thing the widow upstairs brought some, too"
Now someone must have told the wife that I go in the park
I don't think that's a proper thing to do
I only sit upon the grass, watching all the girlies pass
(Do you know I think I've got the
Makings of a dirty old man, don't you?)
Isn't that a lovely melody, lady?
And the words are nice, aren't they?
Miller's the name, the boy who wrote it
A film star
Perhaps you're right an' all
If I could make a date with Kate or even Mary Jane
I'm sure I'd have a splendid honeymoon
By the waterfall I'd stand with a tulip in my hand
Every Sunday afternoon
I whistle like a lark when I am strolling in the park
Every Sunday afternoon
I meet a mademoiselle, came over here from France
I don't know what she says, but I've an idea it's romance
She talks to me in French for hours and I just nod my head
There's no mistake, I feel a silly loon
But every time she kisses me, I go "Ooh la la, oui oui"
Every Sunday afternoon