(Sinclair) 

Every Sunday morning, before daybreak

Down upon the farm, on the fishpond

All the little ducks, they go paddling

Look out goldfish your for breakfast





Sunday morning hear the churchbells ringing

High up in the trees the birds were singing In the dewey grass spiders spinning

Rooster calls and cocks his doodle

All around the farm animals stirring

Through the morning mist the bulls are beefing

In the grassy meadows cows are munching

Daisy Bell it's time for milking





There's such a lot to be done on the farm

In the sunshine, and when it's lunchtime

It's hop down the pub for a pint

Back on the tractor to finish the plowing





Standing all alone, Fred the scarecrow

Hasn't got a clue how the wheat grows

Doesn't mind the rain, hates the cold though

Specially when those icewinds blow snow





All along the lane, bees are buzzing

Little furry things in hedgerows scurrying

In amongst the corn the bunnies are bouncing

Must have springs upon their feet





Behind the cowshed

The plowman is taking a peek

At the farmer's daughter

Who's hanging her undies in the sun





Better get on your boots and join us

Down on the farm





Down here on the farm 



It's a lovely day for country walking

The vicar's on his bike, Billy's skateboarding

The farmer and his dog out back shooting

The gun goes off and hits the tweeting (or: its stopped tweeting)





Lots of smelly stinks around the farmyard

Great big pile of sh..t behind the rhubarb

Sitting in his pram, baby bunting

Does a *BURP* and starts his grunting





Give him a drink, he's gone pink

Wants his mummy, needs changing I think

Such a lot can be done on the farm

In the sunshine

And when it's lunchtime

It's hop down the pub for a pint

Sneak out the backway with Nelly the barmaid

To the woods





Andrew Latimer Guitar 

Peter Bardens Keyboards 

Richard Sinclair Lead Vocals, Bass 

Mel Collins Flute 

Andy Ward Drums