Picture it then it's Sunday again
And everyone's ...........bored
Mr Mick or the most having finished his roast
and every suggestion he made , they ignored
No ghost of a chance of a trip to the coast
"A trip to the bathroom we might just afford" said the nurse
So Mr Mick said, "Oh alright then I'll go for a walk!"
and grabbing a stick he left them to talk
Nothings as dead as a town on a Sunday
Nothing to do but get ready for Monday
So Mr Mick and his stick had the town to themselves
Past the park gates
Competes with the tunes on the trannys
and visited Grannies, baked apple strudel
and Bells of St Mary's
and the yapping of poodles
all gradually fade away from the town
Mr Mick in a field, he closed his eyes
and he spun round
He said, "Where this stick points, there I'll go,
I don't care if it's high, low, inside out or
wrong way round.
Where my stick points, There I'm bound
When he opened his eyes, his curious stick pointed straight,
Make no mistake, at the town refuse tip
Well obviously it wasn't that inviting
I mean you'd hardly call it exciting
But then on a Sunday not much is when you're over age
So Brave Mr Mick soldiered on
