Seven Sundays - Clay Walker

This tie’s fitting just a little too tight

Might have had one too many last night

I wonder if it’s written all over my face

It’s been a little while since I’ve seen this place

Still I’m sitting here in the back row

Like a long lost son is come back home

When I bow my head and taken off my hat

A Sunday morning takes me back

Growing up under that hometown church steeple

Learning God hates sin but still loves people

The preacher preaching 'bout the Promised Land

And me thinking 'bout holding Jesse Lane’s hand

And one hot summer when I was thirteen

Took my soul to the river and washed it clean

Feels so good, Lord, why can’t there be

Seven Sundays a week?

Well, I can still hear daddy singing strong and low

It is well, it is well with my soul

And mama laid up the Sunday best

I can still count every flower on her blue sun dress

I’ve done a lot of living since those days

But a boy comes back when he’s been raised

Growing up under that hometown church steeple

Learning God hates sin but still loves people

The preacher preaching 'bout the Promised Land

And me thinking 'bout holding Jesse Lane’s hand

And one hot summer when I was thirteen

Took my soul to the river and washed it clean

Feels so good, Lord, why can’t there be

Seven Sundays a week?

It was soft ball games

And it was true love waits

And all of those amazing things

About amazing grace

Growing up under that hometown church steeple

Learning God hates sin but still loves people

The preacher preaching 'bout the Promised Land

And me thinking 'bout holding Jesse Lane’s hand

And one hot summer when I was thirteen

Took my soul to the river and washed it clean

It feels so good, Lord, why can’t there be

Seven Sundays a week?

Seven Sundays a week