His left elbow, is hanging out the window
His left finger, is sterring 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 dobule yellow line
This sign says 55, he going 30
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 Sunday, a Sunday driver
In the middle of my Thursday afternoon.
Oh I will not, a blink my headlight
Oh no I will not honk my horn
Cause i know, I know just what he's feeling
Cause I have been in that sweet, driver's seat before.
There is a growing line of angry cars behind us
It's the center fear of mental a single file
I will not interrupt his romance
Well, i'll be his gaurdian angel for a while.
Yea in the middle of my Thursday afternoon