It’s another grumpy Sunday

Zoe’s late picking up Grandad

And the chicken is nearly done.

I’ve got my feet up watching the race

And shouts are heard in the kitchen

Where I haven’t dared to show my face

 

It’s another grumpy Sunday

And I haven’t even decanted the wine.

I’ve had to put the race on record

As I’ve been told to set the table

But everything is rosy,

Everything is fine.

 

It’s another grumpy Sunday

And the Yorkshire pud was burnt.

I’m only glad it wasn’t my fault

And Grandad has taken the blame.

He wasn’t ready for Zoe

And his excuse was rather lame.

 

It’s another grumpy Sunday

And a lovely dinner we’ve had

We’ve toasted the chef

And decanted more wine

And I think it’s fair to say:

Even the Yorkshire pud wasn’t bad!