Letra de 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