Luyện nghe bài hát The Little Lady Preacher

Oh, the little lady from the limestone church
I'll never forget her, I
She preached each Sunday mornin' on the local
With a big black Bible and a snow-white

She was nineteen of age and was developed to a fault
But I will she knew the Bible well
A little white lace hanky the text that she would use
She'd breathe into that microphone and us all to hell

She had a picker by the name of Luther Short
A soul, lost out in sin
She would turn and smile at Luther the program would commence
a voice as sweet as angels she would break out in a hymn

I was pickin' for her too with what we call the bass
I clung to word that passed her lips
She was down on and cigarettes and high on days to come
And she'd punctuate the prophecy with of her hips

The Lord, knows how I loved her, He was there each she preached
But ol' Luther her home each Sunday morn'
back I still recall the way it hurt my tender pride
I longed to be a hero but they're made not

Sometimes ol' Luther showed up at the studio
And smokin' was a thing he to do
She never said a word to him but said a for me
I told her in a way that I'd been for her too

One Sunday her old man showed up and that she was gone
Said she and Luther had a call
I can see me in that studio that day
I had to the heartbreak, unemployment and all

I don't know where are, 'cause I ain't seen them people since
Lord, if I judge 'em let me give 'em lots o'
I know ol' Luther and he's a hard ol' boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered who it was converted