Hi Joe,
I'm always trawling the web looking for song lyrics, and I came across the lyrics to "The Rest of the Day's Your Own" on the Mudcat website. Unfortunately many song lyrics on the web have mistakes so I always try to cross-check several versions and find original scores where possible.
Even the frequency of a particular version of lyrics on the web isn't a guarantee of accuracy. For example, there is only one Welsh language version (I don't know why) of the famous Welsh song "Myfanwy" on dozens of websites, but I've never heard this version sung by a male voice choir and it isn't the version in the printed score.
To get back to "Rest of The Day", I don't want to be pedantic, but there are a lot of mistakes in the version on Mudcat and some of the lines don't even scan, so it wouldn't be much use to a singer.
I've attached what I believe is the original and correct version, taken from the musical score published by Francis, Day and Hunter in 1915. By the way although the song was performed by Jack Lane, it was actually written by Worton David and J. P. Long.

You can also find this score in "The Bumper Book of Music Hall Songs" published by Faber Music Ltd, which is still in print.
Regards,
Trevor.

THE REST OF THE DAY’S YOUR OWN

One day when I was out of work, a job I went to seek,
To be a Farmer's Boy.
At last I found an easy job at a half-a-crown a week -
To be a Farmer's Boy.
The farmer said ‘I think I've got the very job for you,
Your duties will be light for this is all you've got to do;
Rise at three every morn, milk the cow with the crumpled horn,
Feed the pigs, clean the sty, teach the pigeons the way to fly,
Plough the fields, mow the hay, help the cocks and the hens to lay,
Sow the seed, tend the crops, chase the flies from the turnip tops,
Clean the knives, black the shoes, scrub the kitchen and sweep the flues,
Help the wife, wash the pots, grow the cabbages and carrots.
Make the beds, dust the coals, mend the gramophone,
And then if there's no more work to do - The rest of the day's your own.'

I scratched my head and thought it would be absolutely prime
To be a Farmer's Boy.
The farmer said, 'Of course you'll have to do some overtime
When you're a Farmer's boy.
Said he, 'The duties that I've given you, you'll be quickly through,
So I've been thinking out a few more things that you can do;
Skim the milk, make the cheese, chop the meat for the sausages,
Bath the kids, mend their clothes, use your dial to scare the crows,
In the milk put the chalk, shave the knobs off the pickled pork,
Shoe the horse, break the coal, take the cat for his midnight stroll,
Cook the food, scrub the stairs, teach the parrot to say his prayers,
Roast the joint, bake the bread, shake the feathers up in the bed,
When the wife’s got the gout, rub her funny-bone,
And then if there's no more work to do - The rest of the day's your own.

I thought it was a shame to take the money, you can bet,
To be a Farmer's Boy.
And so I wrote my duties down in case I should forget
I was a Farmer's Boy.
It took all night to write 'em down, I didn't go to bed,
But somehow they got all mixed up and this is how they read;
Rise at three every morn, milk the hen with the crumpled horn,
Scrub the wife every day, teach the nanny-goat how to lay,
Shave the cat, mend the cheese, fit the tights on the sausages,
Bath the pigs, break the pots, boil the kids with a few carrots,
Roast the horse, dust the bread, put the cocks and the hens to bed,
Boots and shoes black with chalk, shave the hair on the pickled pork,
All the rest I forgot, somehow it has flown,
But I got the sack this morning, so - The rest of my life's my own.