Try singing this to the tune of Lionel Richie’s Easy Like Sunday Morning. Or don’t. Whichever you prefer.

Don’t ya know what time it is son?

It’s a quarter to six in the morning.

You’ve woken me up by jumping on my chest.

And sticking your foot in my mouth while I’m yawning.

That’s why I’m dozy.

Ah, ah, ah, ahh.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

That’s why I’m do-oo-oo-oo-ozy.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

I tried to get you to eat a good breakfast.

I said fresh fruit would be the tops.

But you wanted chocolate and crisps.

So we compromised with Coco Pops.

That’s why I’m dozy.

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

That’s why I’m do-oo-oo-oo-ozy.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

And now the house is in a terrible mess.

And mummy’s coming home in a few hours.

We haven’t touched the hoover or even the mop.

Will we just buy her off with some flowers?

That’s why I’m dozy.

Ah, ah, ah, ah.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

That’s why I’m do-oo-oo-oo-ozy.

I’m dozy on Sunday morning.

(Repeat to fade).