Tonalité : F major
Verse 1
F#
B
G#m
F#
C#
SUNDAY
F#
DRIVING
B
F#
Sunday Sunday driving
E
F#
G#m
Through a million cars
I'm diving
F#
G#m
No escaping, fender scraping
E
F#
B
F#
Lest you hit a tree
G#m
SUNDAY DRIVING, SUNDAY DRIVING
E
F#
G#m
There's an ambulance arriving
F#
G#m
A collision in my vision
E
F#
G#m
Maybe it was me
B
F#
A lady driver signals left
And then she makes a right
G
I hit her in the rumble seat,
that isn't too polite.
G#
She screams, you beast,
you awful thing,
where do you think you're going?
A
G#m
And I answer, don't look now, dear,
F#
but your rumble seat is showing.
Sunday driving, Sunday driving,
B
for a peaceful day, I'm striving,
F#
G#m
C#
F#
G#m
B
F#
E
but each Sunday is the one day cars are everywhere.
F#
A#
Oh boy, here it is, Sunday morning,
F#
B
F#
and I'm out driving in my car.
And it's so peaceful and quiet,
G#
Gm
the sun is shining,
F#
the boy just chipping.
G
E
Uh -oh, there goes a pedestrian.
F#
Shucks, I missed him.
G
F#
I think I'll go around the block
G
F#
and try again.
E
Gee whiz,
F#
E
F#
I must be out in the country now.
I'm not hitting so many people.
G
I am out in the country.
F#
E
F#
I just hit a cow. This
E
F#
B
D#m
is a cow?
F#
A car goes by me like a flash,
he can't do that to me.
G
I'll chase him and I'll show him
I can go as fast as he.
G#
And sure enough, I pass him
like a rabbit in a thicket.
A
And I learn it's a patrol car
G
F#
when he writes me out a ticket.
I must have made a boo -boo.
E
F#
Sunday driving, Sunday driving,
up the steepest hill I'm striving.
I'm not quitting
G#m
F#
B
F#
till I'm sitting on the very top.
I made it.
Now I'm going down.
G#
G
Boy, what a view.
And look at that cliff
G#
at the bottom of the road.
If I ever went over that, impossible.
A
F#
Not in my car.
What was that?
G
Gsus4
The motor's broke.
G
Gee, I better stop.
Gsus4
G
The brakes don't work.
G#
The brakes don't work!
I'm going 50 miles an hour downhill.
A
Now I'm going 60.
Now it's 70.
My motor don't work.
A#
My brakes don't work.
But I'm not worried.
B
C
My speedometer wikes.
F#
A#
G#
F#
I'm going faster and faster.
G
G#
And now I'm going over the cliff.
Gee, I'm flying.
G#
And in my car.
But cars can't fly.
G#
I'll crash and be killed,
and boy will Dad give it to me
for taking the car.
G#
He'll get me the back room
of the house
and he'll give me what for.
He'll say the conjunctive mood
of people's feelings
certainly don't designate the fact
That other young men
know better than others,
G#
and I certainly don't
know the theory
if I don't know why other people
still do it.
C#m
Next time, I'll take the train.
F#
F#
Instead of Sunday driving!
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