Henry's Songbook

In the cold grey dawn of a Monday morn
You rise from your weary bed
And Tuesday comes with the beatin' drums
Still throbbing in your head
All week long it's a working song
And Friday seems so far
So you pray for the lend of a wild weekend
And Sunday on the jar
And it's Sunday, lazy Sunday on the jar

Let the world beware when you're on the tear
For a wild old Saturday night
With eyes that gleam with the Devil's dream
O' the lassies and the lights
A night of bliss is a drunken kiss
In the back of a rusty car
And the lassies' guile brings a rueful smile
To Sunday on the jar
And it's Sunday, lazy Sunday on the jar

There's those who say we should keep the day
For the big man in the sky
So I went up to the pearly gates
To ask the reason why
But all I found was the grand old sound
Of a tune in a crowded bar
And I found him there in the Angel's Arms
Havin' Sunday on the jar
And it's Sunday, sleepy Sunday on the jar
Aye, Sunday, boozy Sunday on the jar

[1993:] The song sprang from a satisfied remark of Tom [McDonagh]'s over a peaceful Sabbath pint on the only halfway lazy day of a particularly manic German tour. (Notes Brian McNeill, 'Horses For Courses')