Tom T. Hall - The Little Lady Preacher lyrics
[Tom T. Hall - The Little Lady Preacher lyrics]
Oh, the little lady preacher
From the limestone church
I'll never forget her, I guess
She preached each Sunday morning
On the local radio
With a big black Bible and a snow-white dress
She was 19 years of age and
Was developed to a fault
But I will admit she knew the Bible well
A little white lace hanky marked the
Text that she would use
She'd breathe into that microphone and
Send us all to hell
She had a guitar picker by
The name of Luther Short
A hairy legged soul lost out in sin
She would turn and smile at Luther
When the program would commence
With a voice as sweet as angels she
Would break out in a hymn
I was picking for her too with
What we call the doghouse bass
I clung to every word that passed her lips
She was down on booze and cigarettes
And high on days to come
And she'd punctuate the prophecy with
Movements of her hips
The Lord knows how I loved her
He was there each time she preached
But ol' Luther took her
Home each Sunday morn'
Looking back I still recall the way
It hurt my tender pride
I longed to be a hero
But they're made not born
Sometimes ol' Luther showed up
At the studio half-tight
And smoking was a thing he liked to do
She never said a word to him
But said a prayer for me
I told her in a way that
I'd been praying for her too
One Sunday her old man showed up
And said that she was gone
Said she and brother Luther had a call
I can see me standing in that studio that day
I had to face the heartbreak
Unemployment and all
I don't know where they are cause
I ain't seen them people since
Lord if I judge 'em let me
Give 'em lots o' room
I know ol' Luther Short and he's
A hard ol' boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered
Who it was converted whom
From the limestone church
I'll never forget her, I guess
She preached each Sunday morning
On the local radio
With a big black Bible and a snow-white dress
She was 19 years of age and
Was developed to a fault
But I will admit she knew the Bible well
A little white lace hanky marked the
Text that she would use
She'd breathe into that microphone and
Send us all to hell
She had a guitar picker by
The name of Luther Short
A hairy legged soul lost out in sin
She would turn and smile at Luther
When the program would commence
With a voice as sweet as angels she
Would break out in a hymn
I was picking for her too with
What we call the doghouse bass
I clung to every word that passed her lips
She was down on booze and cigarettes
And high on days to come
And she'd punctuate the prophecy with
Movements of her hips
The Lord knows how I loved her
He was there each time she preached
But ol' Luther took her
Home each Sunday morn'
Looking back I still recall the way
It hurt my tender pride
I longed to be a hero
But they're made not born
Sometimes ol' Luther showed up
At the studio half-tight
And smoking was a thing he liked to do
She never said a word to him
But said a prayer for me
I told her in a way that
I'd been praying for her too
One Sunday her old man showed up
And said that she was gone
Said she and brother Luther had a call
I can see me standing in that studio that day
I had to face the heartbreak
Unemployment and all
I don't know where they are cause
I ain't seen them people since
Lord if I judge 'em let me
Give 'em lots o' room
I know ol' Luther Short and he's
A hard ol' boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered
Who it was converted whom