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I love to do my work, |
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Never complain; |
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Never get tired, |
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Don't mind the strain. |
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I always say, \"Old man, |
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Wait till you're through. |
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Sunday will come- |
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Thursday comes, too. |
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In those two days |
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Think what you'll do.\" |
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For they're the lovely days with you. |
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Ev'ry Sunday afternoon and Thursday night, |
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We'll be free as birds in flight. |
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If on Sunday afternoon we ever fight |
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We'll make up on Thursday night. |
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Leave the dishes, |
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Dry your hands. |
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Change your wishes |
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To commands. |
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Ev'ry Sunday afternoon we'll be polite, |
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But we'll make love on Thursday night. |
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I work my life away |
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Thinking of play. |
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What will I wear? |
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What will you say? |
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Then I remind myself, |
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\"Old girl, you're strong, |
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And you're in love. |
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Life can't go wrong. |
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Smile your old smile, |
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Sing your old song. |
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Wait till those dear days come along.\" |
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Ev'ry Sunday afternoon and Thursday night, |
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We'll be free as birds in flight. |
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If on Sunday afternoon we ever fight |
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We'll make up on Thursday night. |
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I'm your slave, dear, |
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But it's bliss. |
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If you shave, dear, |
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We can kiss. |
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Ev'ry Sunday afternoon we'll be polite, |
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But we'll make love on Thursday night. |