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