tom t. hall
the little lady preacher
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