I hate Sunday
When the postman don't come
And there's nothin' to do
But think about how much I miss hearin' from you
And Sunday drags on
And I can't, no I can't wait for Monday
I don't mind Saturday
Well, nobody does
Except maybe the bosses
'Cause even if you miss the last boat on Friday
There's parties across the road
I don't mind, I don't mind Saturday
But I hate Sunday
The postman don't come
And my cupboard is empty
Just soggy old sandwiches, stale beer and bad-goin' tater chips
Smile at my guitar and yell 'cause he's stone-deaf from Saturday
I don't wanna wake up to your letter on Monday
'Cause I, I really hate Sunday
Oh, I hate Sunday
When the postman don't come
And my cupboard is empty
Just soggy old sandwiches, stale beer and bad-goin' tater chips
Smile at my guitar and yell 'cause he's stone-deaf from Saturday
I don't wanna wake up to your letter on Monday
'Cause I, I really hate Sunday
I really hate Sunday
Oh, I hate Sunday
Oh, I hate Sunday
I really hate Sunday
I really hate Sunday
