And it's to you, Mrs. Robertson, that Jesus loves you more than you will know, whoa-whoa-whoa. So please, Mrs. Robertson, heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey. We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files. We'd like to help you learn to help yourself. Look around you, all you see are sympathetic guys. Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home. And it's to you, Mrs. Robertson, that Jesus loves you more than you will know, whoa-whoa-whoa. God bless you. Please, Mrs. Robertson, heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey. Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes. Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes. It's a little secret, just a Robertson's affair. Most of all, you've got to hide it from the kids. It's to you, Mrs. Robertson, that Jesus loves you more than you will know, whoa-whoa-whoa. God bless you. Please, Mrs. Robertson, heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey. Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon. Going to a candidate's debate. Laugh about it, shout about it, when you've got to choose. Every way you look at it, you lose. Where have you gone? Show the magic of our nation, turn those lonely eyes to you, whoa-whoa-whoa. What's that you say, Mrs. Robertson? Joe-Joe has left and gone away, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey. Joe-Joe has left and gone away, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey. Joe-Joe has left and gone away, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey-hey.