Raymond's in his Sunday best, He's usually up to his chest in oil an' grease. There's the Martin's walkin' in, With that mean little freckle-faced kid, Who broke a window last week. Sweet Miss Betty likes to sing off key in the pew behind me.
That's what I love about Sunday: Sing along as the choir sways; Every verse of Amazin' Grace, An' then we shake the Preacher's hand. Go home, into your blue jeans; Have some chicken an' some baked beans. Pick a back yard football team, Not do much of anything: That's what I love about Sunday.