Come Saturday morning,
I'm cleaning my house top to bottom,
I'll not see the sun, till the dirt is all gone.
The Preacher may come,
We might have a guest cause the Lord's Day is near.
Come Saturday morning,
I'm vacuuming till I get sick,
of smelling the dust and cutting the grease.
Each day is brand new
But Saturday's chores are the long overdue.
Cleaning is my friend, my children will smile when the Lord's Day comes, too.
And then we'll be done, But we will continue cleaning, till this feels like home.
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