When I was very young, I presented my mother with a drawing (she still has it) of what appeared to be a red flower standing up in a mud puddle. Not wanting to assume, Mom asked me to tell her about the picture.
Me: It's a rose. Like in the song.
Mom: The song?
Me: You know. Up from the Gravy, A Rose.
And this is why you don't want to sit near my family in church on Easter morning, unless you want to hear a lot of snickering.