Motor Oil & Sunday Puns
[Verse 1] You walk through the door with grease on your hands, Say sorry like I haven't come to understand That smell means you're home, means the day's finally done, Means the man that I love is back where he belongs. You flip to the kitchen, that Tigers cap low, Same faded brim from that first rodeo, Arroz on the stove, your mama's old song, You've been cooking this love all year long. [Chorus] Marco, it's not the grand gestures I keep, It's the Sunday-morning punchlines sending you to your knees, The way you cry at dogs and swear that you're fine, I fell in love with all the small, ridiculous things — and I'd do it every time. [Verse 2] You tell that same joke, and you laugh first, the loudest, Like it just hit you, like you're somehow the proudest Of a pun that was bad seven Sundays ago, And God help me, darlin', I love you for it so. Twelve months go by, you pull out that pan, Her recipe worn in your steady hands, And somewhere out there a dog finds its home, Your jaw gets tight — yeah, I know, I know. [Chorus] Marco, it's not the grand gestures I keep, It's the Sunday-morning punchlines sending you to your knees, The way you cry at dogs and swear that you're fine, I fell in love with all the small, ridiculous things — and I'd do it every time.