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 mornin' on the local radio
With a big black Bible and a snow-white dress

She was nineteen 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 pickin' for her too with what we call the doghouse ba*s
I clung to every word that pa*sed 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'
Lookin' 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 smokin' 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 prayin' 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 standin' 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

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