Think of you with pipe and slippers
Laying there just watching telly
I'll never grow so old and flabby
And your love life shines like cardboard
But your work shoes are glistening
She's a PhD in "I told you so"
You've a knighthood in "I'm not listening"
She'll grab your sweaty bollocks
Then slowly raise her knee
And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay
And you realise you can't make it anyway
Take the kiddies to the park
Those lovely Sunday mornings
With breakfast brought in bed
Those blackbirds look like knitting needles
Those birds will peck your soul out
And the kitchen's always tidy
And the bathroom's always clean
She's a diploma in "just hiding things"
You've a first in low esteem
When your socks smell of angels
But your life smells of brie
And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay
And you realise you can't make it anyway
Take the kiddies to the park
And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay
And you realise you can't make it anyway
Take the kiddies to the park