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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)


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