♪ ♪ Raymond's in his Sunday best. ♪ ♪ He's usually up to his chest in Olin, Greece. ♪ ♪ There's the Martins walking 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. ♪ ♪ I sing along as the choir sways, every verse of amazing grace. ♪ ♪ And then we shake the preacher's hand, go home into your blue jeans. Have some chicken and some baked beans. ♪ ♪ Pick a backyard football team, not do much of anything. That's what I love about Sunday. ♪ ♪ I stroll to the end of the drive, pick up the Sunday Times, grab a coffee cup. ♪ ♪ Looks like Sally and Ron finally tied the knot. Well, it's about time. ♪ ♪ There's 35 cents off a ground round, baby, cut that coupon out. That's what I love about Sunday. ♪ ♪ Cat napping on the porch swing, you curled up next to me. The smell of jasmine wakes us up. ♪ ♪ We take a walk down a back road, a tackle box and a cane pole. We carve our names in that white oak. ♪ ♪ I steal a kiss as the sun fades. That's what I love about Sunday. Oh, yeah. ♪ ♪ New believers getting baptized, mama's hands raised up high. Having a hallelujah good time. ♪ ♪ A smile on everybody's face. That's what I love about Sunday. Oh, yeah. That's what I love about Sunday. Oh, yeah. ♪ ♪