Sunday Driver


I keep the rearview folded, I’m not looking back
Keep thoughts clear of my forehead, avoiding all the flack

Though she said I’ll be sorry, I still can’t feel the thing
Don’t care if she forgives me. Ain’t clipping my wings

Broke up with her on Tuesday
I’m spending Sunday driving home
There’s a big old pile of boxes
Where baby used to sit before
I changed my mind about her
I mean she really doesn’t fit the mold
She’s like a Sunday driver
And I’m getting old

‘Cause she took me for granted. She took my time for free
Though I gave her a licence, she wouldn’t care for me

So I’m driving down the highway, going back cross Yonder Hill
If she can’t do it my way, somebody else will


Her red house is empty now
Put the key in the mailbox now
Left her a note that say goodbye


Song details:

Catalogue number: GC033

Year of induction into catalogue: 2015

written by: Peter Varkonyi

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