he dresses up her children
And she herds ‘em to the car
Drives down to the mega church
Can’t find a place to park
Then she feels a little guilty
When she takes His name in vain
Then she folds her last few dollars and she drops ‘em in the plate
Its Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
His back is out of kilter
From sleeping on concrete
And he’d like to have some breakfast
But He’d trade it for a drink
Those early morning joggers
They’re quick to pass him by
And the ones who drop a dollar
Don’t dare look him in the eye
Another Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Its Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Smell the eggs and bacon
Hear the church bells ring
Cheerleaders shaking
On a big screen tv
There’s Winnebago’s
And boats on the lake
And a red-head freckled face blows out the candles on his birthday cake
Its Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
He’s hunkered in a bunker
With a rifle in his hand
Layin’ his life on the line
Every inch of sand
He’s Dreaming about that freedom he’s been fighting for
and the arms that will wrap around him
When he comes walking through that door
Some Sunday morning, Sunday morning…in America
Yea, Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Smell the Eggs and bacon
Hear the church bells ring
Cheerleaders shaking
On a big screen tv
There’s Winnebago’s
And boats on the lake
And a red-head freckled face blows out the candles on his birthday cake
Yea, Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Well, I know it ain’t perfect
There’s a lot of things wrong
In America
But I thank God for those who lay down their lives
To make this place my home
Smell the eggs and bacon
Hear the church bells ring
Cheerleaders shaking
On a 57 inch big screen tv
There’s trucks on a highway
And sailboats on the lake
And a red-head freckled face blows out the candles on his birthday cake
Its Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
Sunday morning, Beautiful Sunday morning… in America
Oh, Sunday morning, Sunday morning… in America
