Amy Grant

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