I MUST GO OUT ON SUNDAY.
Sung by Miss Kitty Brooke.
I'm Jenny Jinks the kitchen maid, of hard work not at all afraid,
Nor yet particular to a shade, but I must go out on Sunday;
Six days I'll work with all my might to keep the pots and kettles bright.
And put the cobwebs out of sight, but I must go out on Sunday.
Sis days I'll work with all my might to keep the pots and kettles bright,
And put the cobwebs out of sight, but I must go out on Sundays.
When first I went to take a place, the lady looked me in the face,
And said, "Young girl, now state your case, and what about your Sundays."
"Mann, I can bake And I can brew and I can cook an Irish stew,
And wash a shirt And iron it, too, but I must go out on Sundays.-Chorus.
"Indeed! why then 'tis plain," said she, "that you will never do for me;
I took my leave with a curtsey, resolved to have my Sundays;
A dozen places more I tried throughout great New York City wide.
But everywhere the ladies cried, "We don' give out our Sundays." - Chorus.
At last to bring the fate to book, sly counsel with myself I took,
And got a place with Doctor Hook, who never mentioned Sundays;
But when came round all days the best, in pink And green myself I dressed,
And sailed off gaily to the West, like other girls on Sunday. - Chorus.
With Corporal Tompkins of the Blues, so handsome-six feet in his shoes,
I spent the day. did what I chose, And planned for future Sundays;
But fancy when I homeward sped the family was all in bed;
Says one who through the keyhole said, "That's going out on Sunday." -Cho.
Now wasn't this a pretty plight? no friends at hand, locked out all night,
And told it only served me right for going out on Sundays;
But worse, because I kicked the door, "police!" was called; there came up four.
Who took me to-I'll say no more, but it wasn't a place for Sundays. - Cho.