Put On Your Sunday Clothes - Michael Crawford, Barbra Streisand

Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers

Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby

There’s a slick town, Barnaby

Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle

Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby

Listen, Barnaby

Put on your Sunday clothes there’s lots of world out there

Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars

We’re gonna find adventure in the evening air

Girls in white, in a perfumed night

Where the lights are bright as the stars

Put on your Sunday clothes we’re gonna ride through town

In one of those new horse drawn open cars

We’ll see the shows at Delmonico

And we’ll close the town in a whirl

And we won’t come home until we’ve kissed a girl

Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out

Strut down the street and have your picture took

Dressed like a dream, your spirits seem to turn about

That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look

Beneath your parasol, the world is all the smile

That makes you feel brand new down to your toes

Get out your feathers, your patent leathers

Your beads and buckles and bows

For there’s no blue Monday in your Sunday

No Monday in your Sunday

No Monday in your Sunday clothes

Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out

Strut down the street and have your picture took

Dressed like a dream, your spirits seem to turn about

That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look

Beneath your parasol, the world is all the smile

That makes you feel brand new down to your toes

Get out your feathers, your patent leathers

Your beads and buckles and bows

For there’s no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes

Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out

Strut down the street and have your picture took

Dressed like a dream, your spirits seem to turn about

That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look

Beneath your bowler brim the world’s a simple song

A lovely love that makes you tilt your nose

Get out your slickers, your flannel knickers

Your red suspenders and hose

For there’s no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes

Ermengarde keep smiling no man wants a little ninny

Ambrose do a turn, let me see

Mr.Hackl, Mr. Tucker, don’t forget Irene and Minnie

Just forget you ever heard a word from me

All aboard, all aboard

All aboard, all aboard

Aboard

Put on your Sunday clothes there’s lots of world out there

Put on your silk cravat and patent shoes

We’re gonna find adventure in the evening air

To town we’ll trot, to a smoky spot where the girls are hot as a fuse

Put on your silk high hat and at the turned up cuff

We’ll wear a hand made gray suede buttoned glove

We wanna take New York by storm

We’ll join the Astors at Tony Pastor’s

And this I’m positive of that we won’t come home

No, we won’t come home

No, we won’t come home until we fall in love