Sunday morning, here we are,
The boy's come home,
Not quite the mjovie star.

He's been in Hollywood,
The boy's come home,
The boy's done good.

He says she asked to high a price,
Neglecting to declare,
What sits between them there on ice,
Chilled, with the fizzy and the still.
He tried but didn't make it there.

"It's not for me,
It's not for me."

Sunday papers, here we are.
The boy's come home,
The boy's come home.