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 nineteen years of age and was developed to a fault

But I will admit she knew the Bible well

A little white lace hankie 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 called 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 old 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 old 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’ve 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 of room

I know Luther Short and he’s a hard old boy to change

And I’ve often sat and wondered who it was converted whom