[Intro]

[verse]

Monday morning, kettle's singing,

Sky's the colour of the stone,

Aprons, shirts and children's stockings,

Waiting to be carried home.

Neighbours lean across the yard wall,

Talking while the water boils,

Half a life is passed in washing,

Half in everyday small toils.

[chorus]

Hang it high and let it dry,

White against the northern sky,

Sun or rain, we carry on,

Morning comes and day is gone.

Hands grow old but hearts don't say,

They've had enough of every day,

Hang it high and let it dry,

White against the northern sky.

[verse]

Sheets are dancing in the garden,

Catching every passing breeze,

Children run between the washing,

Disappearing where they please.

Someone laughs and someone whistles,

Someone's kettle starts to sing,

There's no fortune in the washing,

Only all the little things

[chorus]

Hang it high and let it dry,

White against the northern sky,

Sun or rain, we carry on,

Morning comes and day is gone.

Hands grow old but hearts don't say,

They've had enough of every day,

Hang it high and let it dry,

White against the northern sky.