Ah you seem like a girl
With her feet on the ground You are not ruled by minutes
And hours I'll be bound Tell me how many seconds
You get to the pound For Time's gone on his holidays
The cockerel gave up
At the break of the day His wife's out on strike
She's refusing to lay So the farmer can't find
Any eggs in the hay Now Time's gone on his holidays
Inside the old clock I don't get an answer
Whenever I knock Do you think he's gone off
With the rest of his flock With Time gone on his holidays
That we must endure Well it doesn't become you
To be so obscure What is needed is someone
Who's certain and sure While Time's gone on his holidays
Which way should she go? Did she wake up this morning
To ebb or to flow? No one told her, could she
Be expected to know That Time's gone on his holidays?
The brink of a fight, Say they cannot decide
Between morning or night You see, either of them might
be wrong or quite right If Time's gone on his holidays
Or was it last year? Even I can't tell present
From future it's clear But it's hardly surprising,
You must admit, Dear For Time's gone on his holidays
And nothing is sane Am, I coming or going?
It's really a strain I have always been punctual
Well, in the main But now Time's on his holidays
Or shorter to bake Than a roasted potato
Or upside-down cake? What's the point of an egg-timer
For heaven's sake When Time's gone on his holidays
When our Time will be back? If he's going to be long then
We'll give him the sack And we'll just do without him,
That phoney old quack, Let Time stay on his holidays
copyright owned by ‘Dawn’
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