| Raymond’s in his Sunday best,
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| He’s usually up to his chest in oil an' grease.
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| There’s the Martin’s walkin' in,
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| With that mean little freckle-faced kid,
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| Who broke a window last week.
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| Sweet Miss Betty likes to sing off key in the pew behind me.
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| That’s what I love about Sunday:
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| Sing along as the choir sways;
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| Every verse of Amazin' Grace,
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| An' then we shake the Preacher’s hand.
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| Go home, into your blue jeans;
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| Have some chicken an' some baked beans.
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| Pick a back yard football team,
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| Nothin' much of anything:
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| That’s what I love about Sunday.
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| I stroll to the end of the drive,
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| Pick up the Sunday Times, grab my coffee cup.
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| It looks like Sally an' Ron, finally tied the knot,
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| Well, it’s about time.
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| It’s 35 cents off a ground round,
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| Baby. |
| cut that coupon out!
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| That’s what I love about Sunday:
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| Cat-napping on the porch swing;
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| You curled up next to me,
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| The smell of jasmine wakes us up.
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| Take a walk down a back road,
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| Tackle box and a cane pole;
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| Carve our names in that white oak,
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| An' steal a kiss as the sun fades,
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| That’s what I love about Sunday,
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| Oh, yeah.
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| Ooh, new believers gettin' baptized,
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| Momma’s hands raised up high,
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| Havin' a Hallelujah good time
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| A smile on everybody’s face.
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| That’s what I love about Sunday,
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| Oh, yeah.
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| That’s what I love about Sunday,
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| Oh, yeah. |