Sunday, Sunday, Sunday....

The sun rises up through the trees bright and early
But the spirit of the game lives in the tall and burly

The fans get up and ready for the game today
Because now it doesn't matter what the papers say

They pack and they load all sorts of great snacks
And fill up there cars with all sorts of beer in the back

The autumn air births a scent known by all
Everyone knows football is synonymous to Fall

Everything stops for this glorious event without doubt
It's ironic that 12 o'clock is when church let us out

They bolt to there homes and run to theirs dressers
They don their Pride's colors and turn into professors

Then the armies flock into the theaters of touchdowns
making their presence known in the form of three sounds

Sometimes they chant and then sometimes they boo
Sometimes they scream so loud the refs don't know what to do

But they make there way to their seats in arenas or at home
Watching as their team begins to fight for their throne

And then the time comes and kick off comes near
That special time when season starts
and you almost shed a tear.