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We will go to church on Sundays,
What a life we'll lead.
Mum and Dad will come on Mondays,
Tuesdays, we will read.
Wednesdays, we'll go out and have a snack,
Thursdays, I will sew.
Fridays, we'llhelp Mum and Dad to pack,
Saturdays, they'll go.
Every star that's in the sky
Will belong to Bill and I.
She's a witch, she's a witch!
She's a dull and boring bitch!
I would like to wring her neck and dump her body
in a ditch. She's as lifeless as a slab;
She's repulsive, she is drab.
She's a witch! Evil witch!
She's a witch, she's a witch!
She's enough to make you twitch.
If you put her on a broom you couldn't tell which witch is which.
She is dreadful, she is vile.
And one day I swear that I'll
Kill the witch, cowing witch!
He will love and cherish me. Oh, how sweet our life will be We will
go to church... (etc.)
(Counter melody)
She's a witch, she's a witch!
She's a wicked ice-cold bitch!
I could plug her in a socket and then quickly pull the switch.
How I hate her virgin lips,
Hope she chokes on orange pips.
What a bitch! Rotten witch!
She's a witch, she's a witch!
She's enough to make you itch.
And one day I'll plan her murder; it will go without a hitch.
When her neck is in the noose
I will chuck some orange juice
At the witch, cowing witch!

John Barry
Don Black
sung by Michael Crawford, Gay Soper

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Couldn't you bust, how can they be just
Happy to be themselves?
They look so odd, like peas in a pod,
Happy to be themselves.
Nowhere to go but still ever so
Happy to be themselves,
Nothing to see what makes them all be
Happy to be themselves.

Shopping with stamps and rubbing their cramps,
Happy to be themselves,
Cooking their stews and drinking their booze,
Happy to be themselves.
Darning their socks and watching the box,
Happy to be themselves,
Saving their brass, cutting their grass,
Happy to be themselves.

They don't remember :
Streamers and clowns and penny arcades,
Merry-go-rounds, and buckets and spades,
Conkers and crisps, and Disney cartoons,
Charabanc rides and broken balloons.

Carrying bags, smoking their fags,
Happy to be themselves,
Having a snooze, standing in queues,
Happy to be themselves.
Waiting like fools for Littlewoods pools,
Happy to be themselves,
Eating their chips and licking their lips,
Happy to be themselves.

Sawdust and swings, and marbles and kites,
Cowboys and kinds, and bonfire nights,
Rabbits that go, and mirrors that bend,
Curtains that fall, and evenings that end.

Riding in tubes and padding their boobs,
Happy to be themselves.
I'll bet they cough when having it off,
Happy to be themselves.
Writing in bogs, walking their dogs,
Happy to be themselves,
They're in a mess but couldn't care less,
Happy to be themselves.

We're pleased to say we like it this way,
Happy to be ourselves.
Better by far to stay as we are,
Happy to be ourselves.
What we are got is still quite a lot,
Happy to be ourselves.
No big ideas of crappy careers,
Happy to be ourselves.

Once you have fame, you're never the same,
Happy to be ourselves.
Swift cardiacs and ulcer attacks,
Happy to be ourselves.
Who wants to race all over the place?
Happy to be ourselves.
Leave us alone, we're fine on our own,
Happy to be ourselves.

Music by John Barry
Lyrics by Don Black
Sung by Michael Crawford, Billy Boyle and Company

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Some of us belong to the stars
And that is where I am going.
I will soar all over the sky
And I won't need a Boeing.
Most people stay and battle on with their boredom.
But what's the sense in dreaming dreams if you hoard 'em ?
It won't be long before I say my ta-ta's,
I belong to the stars.

Some of us belong to the stars.
Up there is where you'll find me.
If you want to come for the ride.
Then form a queue behind me.
Soon I'll be wallowing in all of life's riches.
I'm going to carve myself some crater-like niches;
You better go rehearse your hip-hip-hoorahs!
I belong to the stars.

Some of us belong to the stars;
There's followers and leaders.
Some of us are born to be great
And some are born conceders.
So I will go wherever winners assemble.
Yes, from now on the world won't spin, it will tremble.
I'll soon be passing round the Cuban cigars,
I belong to the stars.

Some of us belong to the stars.
We fly around in orbit.
We soak up the wisdom of life
While others can't absorb it.
I'll hang my hat in every part of the atlas.
Most of the time I will be hopelessly hatless.
You must come visit one of my shangri-la's,
I belong to the stars.

John Barry
Don Black
sung by Michael Crawford

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And what is more, you are a twit;
And, another bloody thing, l'm sick of it,
A lazy lout, a bloody berk
And you don't know what it is to work.
You act just like a nincompoop
And, another bloody thing, your shoulders stoop.
And all the lies that's in yer'ed
Are enough to raise the bloody dead!
I should kick you up the bum my lad
But Ee-by-bloody-gum my lad
Your bum is always in the bloody bed
Your eggs are cold, you won't get up
And I'm not your servant yet; go fetch yer cup.
Your room's a mess. It don't seem right
And why should I have to cook all night?
And I've no time to live my life
And I pity poor lass who'll be your wife.
Don't carry on, don't talk that way.
And just think what must our neighbours say?
And you never turn the lights out,
And l'm sick of your late nights out.
And you're bound to be the death of me one day!
And mark my words, and don't play deaf.
It's a funny bloody thing that your name's BF.
That's what you are: a bloody fool,
And they must have taught you now that school.
And wake up, lad, you're half asleep,
And it doesn't grow on trees; and earn your keep,
And stand up straight, you look half bent.
And you never pay the bloody rent!
And you get away with murder.
Idon't think I've ever heard a
Single word that is intelli-bloody-gent!
I call a spade a bloody spade
And, another bloody thing, I am self-made.
And you eat like a little bird.
And the fibs you tell are quite absurd.
They ought to give that boy what for,
They should put him in his room and
lock the door.
He's off his head, he's gone cuckoo,
He'd be better off inside a zoo.
There is nothing we can teach him,
It's impossible to reach him.
And if he were mine I'd push him
down the loo!
(Counter melody)
Christ Almighty! What relations! This lot 'ere are my three loves!
One - two - three assassinations, I won't get caught, l'll wear gloves!
(Finale)
... Bet the bodies that you bury
Are alive in t'cemetery;
Oh why did we ever undertake a son!

John Barry
Don Black
sung by Brian Pringle, Avis Bunnage, Betty Turner, Michael Crawford

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Ambrosia, Ambrosia

Strong and brave and noble and free.
You can feel the joy in the air,
There's sense of pride everywhere;
Ambrosia, Ambrosia,
Strong and brave and noble and free.

Music by John Barry
Lyrics by Don Black
Sung by The Company

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Goodnight Goodnight, sleep welll my dear.
No need to fear, James Bond is here...

Oh, love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill.
No-one can catch him, no hit man can match him for his million dollar skill.

One golden shot means another poor victim, has come to a glittering end
If you want to get rid of someone, the man with the golden gun will get it done.

He'll shoot anyone with his golden gun.

John Barry
Don Black
sung by Lulu

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He has a powerful weapon, he charges a million a shot
An assassin that's second to none, the man with the golden gun.

Lurking in some darkened doorway, or crouched on a roof top somewhere
In the next room, or this very one, the man with the golden gun.

Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill.
No-one can catch him, no hit man can match him for his million dollar skill.

One golden shot means another poor victim has come to a glittering end,
For a price, he'll erase anyone, the man with the golden gun.

His eye may be on you or me. Who will he bang? We shall see. Oh yeah!

Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill.
No-one can catch him, no hit man can match him for his million dollar skill.

One golden shot means another poor victim, has come to a glittering end
If you want to get rid of someone, the man with the golden gun will get it done.
He'll shoot anyone with his golden gun.

John Barry
Don Black
sung by Lulu

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Sail the summer winds,
no need to change your restless ways.
Ride the rolling tides,
through whispered nights and golden days.

Sail the summer winds
from dream to dream
and shore to shore,
go and get to know, if there's a place that offers more.

Bridge: Now,you must go now,
while there is still a world to see.
Go, you'd better go, while it's still free.

Sail the summer winds,
and when you've sailed on every sea,
sail the summer winds back home to me.

Repeat Bridge and verse 3.

Music John Barry
Lyrics Don Black
peformed by Lyn Paul

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Thee is love
Thee is wine
But more, much more
Thee is sun when the days are cold

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For the Duchess, an invitation
from the Queen, to play crocquet.

From the Queen, an invitation
for the Duchess, to play crocquet.

Music by John Barry
Lyrics by Don Black