Luyện nghe bài hát The Little Lady Preacher

Oh, the little lady preacher from the church
I'll forget her, I guess
She preached each mornin' on the local radio
With a big black Bible and a snow-white

She was years of age and was developed to a fault
But I admit she knew the Bible well
A white lace hanky marked the text that she would use
She'd breathe into that and send us all to hell

She had a guitar picker by the name of Luther
A hairy-legged soul, out in sin
She would turn and at Luther when the program would commence
With a voice as sweet as she would break out in a hymn

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

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

Sometimes ol' showed up at the studio half-tight
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 prayin' for her too

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

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