The Day Off

GEORGE:

If the head was smaller...

If the tail were longer...

If he faced the water...

If the paws were hidden...

If the neck was darker...

If the back was curved...

More like the parasol...

Bumbum bum bumbumbum

Bumbum bum...

More shade...

More tail...

More grass!...

Would you like some more grass?

Mmmm...

SPOT (GEORGE):

Ruff! Ruff!

Thanks,

The week has been—

Rough!

When you're stuck for life on a garbage scow,

Only forty feet long from stern to prow,

And a crackpot in the bow—

Wow, rough!

The planks are rough

And the wind is rough

And the master's drunk and mean and—

Grrrruff! Gruff!

With the fish and scum

And planks and ballast...

The nose gets numb

And the paws get callused

And with splinters in your ass,

You look forward to the grass

On Sunday

The day off

Off! Off! Off!

Off!

SPOT (GEORGE):

The grass needs to be thicker

Perhaps a few weeds

And some ants, If you would

I love fresh ants

Roaming around on Sunday,

Poking among the roots and rocks

Nose to the ground on Sunday

Studying all the shoes and socks

Everything's worth it Sunday

The day off

Bits of pastry...

Piece of chicken...

Here's a handkerchief

That somebody was sick in

There's a thistle

That's a shallot

That's a dripping

From the loony with the palette

FIFI (GEORGE):

Yap! Yap!

Yap!

Out for the day on Sunday

Off of my lady's lap at last

Yapping away on Sunday

Helps you forget the week just past—

Yep! Yep!

Everything's worth it Sunday

The day off

Yep!

Stuck all week on a lady's lap

Nothing to do but yawn and nap

Can you blame me if I yap?

SPOT (GEORGE):

Nope

FIFI (GEORGE):

There's only so much attention a dog can take

Being alone on Sunday,

Rolling around in mud and dirt—

SPOT (GEORGE):

Begging a bone on Sunday

Settling for a spoiled dessert—

FIFI (GEORGE):

Everything's worth it—

SPOT (GEORGE):

Sunday—

FIFI (GEORGE):

The day off

SPOT (GEORGE):

Something fuzzy...

FIFI (GEORGE):

Something furry...

SPOT (GEORGE):

Something pink

That someone tore off in a hurry

FIFI (GEORGE):

What's the muddle

In the middle?

SPOT (GEORGE):

That's the puddle

Where the poodle

Did the piddle

GEORGE:

Taking the day on Sunday

Now that the dreary week is dead

Getting away on Sunday

Brightens the dreary week ahead

Everyone's on display on Sunday—

ALL:

The day off!

GEORGE:

Bonnet flapping

Bustle sliding

Like a rocking horse that nobody's been riding

There's a daisy...

And some clover...

And that interesting fellow looking over...

OLD LADY:

Nurse!

GEORGE, NURSE:

One day is much like any other

Listening to her snap and drone

NURSE:

Still, Sunday with someone's dotty mother

Is better then Sunday with your own

Mothers may drone, mothers may whine—

Tending to his, though, is perfectly fine

It pays for the nurse that is tending to mine

On Sunday—

My day off

FRIEDA:

You know, Franz—

I believe that artist is drawing us.

FRANZ:

Who?

FRIEDA:

Monsieur's friend.

FRANZ:

Monsieur would never think to draw us!

We are only people he looks down upon

GEORGE, FRIEDA:

Second bottle...

GEORGE, FRANZ:

Ah, she looks for me...

FRIEDA:

He is bursting to go...

FRANZ:

Near the fountain...

FRIEDA:

I could let him...

FRANZ:

How to manage it—?

FRIEDA:

No

FRANZ:

I should have been an artist.

I was never intended for work.

FRIEDA:

Artists work, Franz.

I believe they work very hard.

FRANZ:

Work!...

We work

We serve their food

We carve their meat

We tend to their house

We polish their

Silverware

FRIEDA:

The food we serve

We also eat

FRANZ:

For them we rush

Wash and brush

Wipe and wax—

FRIEDA:

Franz, relax

FRANZ:

While he "creates,"

We scrape their plates

And dust their knickknacks

Hundreds to the shelf

Work is what you do for others,

Liebchen

Art is what you do for yourself

CELESTE #1:

Look!

CELESTE #2:

Where?

CELESTE #1:

Soldiers

CELESTE #2:

Alone

SOLDIER:

What do you think?

I like the one in the light hat.

GEORGE, SOLDIER:

Mademoiselles

I and my friend

We are but soldiers!

SOLDIER:

Passing the time

In between wars

For weeks at an end

CELESTE #1:

Both of them are perfect

CELESTE #2:

You can have the other

CELESTE #1:

I don't want the other

CELESTE #2:

I don't want the other either

SOLDIER:

And after a week

Spent mostly indoors

With nothing but soldiers

Ladies, I and my friend

Trust we will not offend

Which we'd never intend

By suggesting we spend—

CELESTES:

Oh, spend—

SOLDIER:

—This magnificent Sunday—

CELESTES:

Oh, Sunday—

SOLDIER:

With you and your friend

CELESTE #2:

The one on the right's an awful bore...

CELESTE #1:

He's been in a war

SOLDIER:

We may get a meal and we might get more...

CELESTES, SOLDIER:

It's certainly fine for Sunday...

It's certainly fine for Sunday...

It's certainly fine for Sunday...

GEORGE, BOATMAN:

You and me, pal

We're the loonies

Did you know that?

Bet you didn't know that

BOATMAN:

'Cause we tell them the truth!

Who you drawing?

Who the hell you think you're drawing?

Me?

You don't know me!

Go on drawing

Since you're drawing only what you want to see

Anyway!

One eye, no illusion—

That you get with two:

One for what is true

One for what suits you

Draw your wrong conclusion

All you artists do

I see what is true...

ALL:

Taking the day on Sunday

After another week is dead

OLD LADY:

Nurse!

ALL:

Getting away on Sunday

Brightens the dreary week ahead

OLD LADY:

Nurse!

ALL:

Leaving the city pressure

Behind you,

Off where the air is fresher,

Where green, blue,

Blind you—