Sunday Driver

Aw, yeah

His left elbow, is hanging out the window

His left finger, is steering the wheel

His right arm is, wrapped around his sweetheart

And it's paradise inside his love mobile

Well I am stuck here, right behind him

I'm held hostage by the double yellow line

The sign says fifty five, he's going thirty

And it's clear to me that he has no concern for time

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

He don't want to get his baby home too soon

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

In the middle of my Thursday afternoon

Oh I will not, blink my headlights

Oh no I will not honk my horn

'Cause I know, I know just what he's feeling

'Cause I've been in that sweet, driver's seat before

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

He don't want to get his baby home too soon

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

In the middle of my Thursday afternoon

There is a growing line of angry cars behind us

It's the center fear of mental and single file

I will not interrupt his romance

Well, I'll be his guardian angel for a while

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

He don't want to get his baby home too soon

He's a Sunday, a Sunday driver

In the middle of my Thursday afternoon

Yeah in the middle of my Thursday afternoon