SUNDAY DRIVING
Jerry Lewis - 1956


(Ahhh, look out where you're goin'. Stop that.)
(Traffic sounds and police car sirens)

Sunday driving, Sunday driving
Through a million cars I'm diving
No escaping, fenders scraping
Less you hit a tree

Sunday driving, Sunday driving
There's an ambulance arriving
A collision in my vision
Maybe it was me

A lady driver signals left
And then she makes a right
I hit her in the rumble seat
That isn't too polite

She screams, "You bbeast, you awful thing,
Where do you think you're going?"
And I answer, "Don't look now, Dear,
But your rumble seat is showing"

Sunday driving, Sunday driving
For a peaceful day I'm striving
But each Sunday is the one day
Cars are everywhere

SPOKEN:
Oh boy, here it is. Sunday morning and I'm out drivin' in my car.
And it's so peaceful and quiet. The Sun is shinin', the boydes is
chirpin'. Oh-oh, there goes a pedestrian. Shucks, I missed 'im.
Ha-ha, I think I'll go 'round the block and try again. Gee whiz,
I must be out in the country now. I'm not hittin' so many people
(Thump). I am out in the country. I just hit a cow (Bleating Sound).
This is a cow?

A car goes by me like a flash
He can't do that to me
I'll chase him and I'll show 'im
I can go as fast as he

And sure enough I pass 'im
Like a rabbit in a thicket
And I learn it's a Patrol Car
When he writes me out a ticket

I musta made a boo-boo

Sunday driving, Sunday driving
Up the steepest hill I'm striving
I'm not quitting till I'm sitting
On the very top

SPOKEN: I made it. Now I'm goin' down. Boy, what a view. And look at
the cliff at the bottom of the road. If I ever went over that. Ha-ha,
impossible! Not in my car (Mechanical Sound). What was that? The
motor's broke. Gee, I better stop. The brakes don't work. THE BRAKES
DON'T WORK? I'm goin' fifty miles an hour downhill. Now I'm goin'
sixty. Now it's seventy. My motor don't work, my brakes don't work,
but I'm not worried. AAhhh, my speedometer works. I'm goin' faster
and faster. And now I'm goin' over the cliff...... Gee, I'm flyin'.
And in my car. But cars don't fly. I'll crash and be killed. And,
boy, will Dad give it to me for takin' the car. He'll get me in the
back room of the house and he'll give me what for! He'll say the
conjunctive mood of the people stealing certainly don't designate the
fact that other young men know better than others and I certainly
don't know the feeling if I don't know why everything (Crash).

Next time I'll take the train

Instead of Sunday driving



(Transcribed by Mel Priddle - January 2004)