We can try to muddle through that.
We'll try that one.
I
think that's it.
Is that it?
He's a left elbow.
Oh, yeah.
He's hanging out the window.
His left finger is steering the wheel.
His right arm is wrapped around his sweetheart.
That's it.
Yeah.
And it's a paradise inside his love mobile.
I am stuck here,
right behind him.
I'm held hostage by the double yellow line.
Well, the sign says 55. He's going 30.
And it's clear that he has no concern for time.
Cause he's a Sunday,
Sunday driver.
He don't want to get his baby home
too soon.
He's a
Sunday,
Sunday driver.
In the middle of my Thursday afternoon.
I know I will not
honk my horn.
Cause I know,
yeah, I know just went that old boy's feeling.
Yes, I do.
Cause I've been in that sweet driver's seat before.
Cause he's a Sunday.
Here's your part right here.
Sunday driver.
All right.
He don't want to get his baby home too soon.
He's a Sunday.
Here we go.
Sunday driver.
In the middle of my Thursday afternoon.
There's a growing line of angry cars behind us.
It's a centipede of metal, a single file hand.
I will not interrupt his romance.
Yeah.
I'll be his guardian angel for a while.
Cause he's a Sunday.
Just you.
He
don't want to get his baby
home
too soon.
He's a Sunday.
Sunday driver.
In the middle of my Thursday afternoon.