WHEN SUNDAY COMES AGAIN.
Copyright, 1891, by Francis, Day & Hunter.
Written and Composed by Charles Williams.
In a neat little cabin in County Tyrone
Dwells a gem of a girl that I'm longing to own;
This rare little, neat little, sweet little dove,
Has eyes that are bright and are brimful of love.
No high pedigree can this young maiden trace;
Her fortune's her fairy-like figure and face:
Next Sunday at ten, boys, a bride she will be.
The bridegroom is yours very truly, that's me.
And next Sunday morn when the clock strikes ten
She'll be my wife and I the happiest of men.
Oh! what joy! no more pain;
She and I the knot will tie when Sunday comes again.
Both the highest and lowest that dwell in the land,
Oft have sought, but in vain, for this fair damsel's band;
ah! little she cared for their words or their pelf,
And vowed she'd resolved to live all by herself;
But one day Dau Cupid at her shot his dart,
And somehow or other it pierced her young heart;
Well I, being handy, got quickly to "biz";
I told her my love, and the consequence in-Chorus.
On last Saturday morning a note came to me
From a jolly old uncle who dwells o'er the sea;
He wished both myself And my future bride joy,
Concluding by saying, "And now my dear boy,
I've got far more money than I want myself,
So knowing that you're not o'erloaded with pelf.
From me you'll receive on your bright wedding day
A thousand or two for a start on life's way." - Chorus.