Amy Grant
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Amy, Amy Grant
Amy, Amy Grant
Amy, Amy Grant
She comes home from church, she takes off her pants
That's what I like about Amy Grant
When she comes home from church, she's gotta take off her pants
That's what I like about Amy Grant
I'm talkin' 'bout Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy Grant
Now the songs she writes and the way she sings
Too bad her fans don't care about such little things
She don't spare the child, she don't spoil the rod
She just gets rich 'cause she works for God
I'm talkin' 'bout Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy Grant
Now when she first met Jesus, didn't know what to say
But He gave her a guitar and He told her what to play
He said, "Amy, don't you play no modern jazz
Don't you play none of that hard rock
What the people wanna hear is pure unadulterated schlock"
I'm talkin' 'bout Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy Grant
Amy, Amy Grant
Amy, Amy Grant
Amy, Amy Grant
Alone in bed, late at night
She fantasizes about Barry White
Barry, Barry White
Barry, Barry White
I'm talkin' 'bout Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy Grant