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Song Details
Duration: 2:42 
Release Date: 1951  (CapSuper) 
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Song Lyrics:
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 (crash)

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 beast; 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

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 boids is
choipin'. 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 (baa!).
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 (clang). 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!
(Stavro Arrgolus)
Current Rating 9.2 (6 votes)
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