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 gotta take off her pants
That’s what I like about Amy Grant
I’m talkin’ ’bout Amy, Amy, Amy, huh
Amy Grant
And those songs she writes, and, Lordy, 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 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 want to hear is pure unadulterated schlock
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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Young Fresh Fellows Lyrics – Amy Grant