David Gates

Sunday riders-ridin' out along the highway
Sunday gliders-glidin' up along the skyway
Some must fly and some must speed
To satisfy the human need
Paper dresses-wear them once and throw
away
Plastic flowers-try to smell them anyway
No matter what the future brings
Nothin's like the real things
Sunday lovers-sneakin' in forsaken places
Under covers-so's to hide the guilty faces
Take my wife and take my pay
But don't take my Sunday lady from me.