Luyện nghe bài hát The Little Lady Preacher

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

She was years of age and was developed to a fault
But I will she knew the Bible well
A white lace hanky marked the text that she would use
She'd breathe that microphone 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 smile at when the program would commence
With a voice as sweet as angels she break out in a hymn

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

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

Sometimes ol' showed up at the studio half-tight
And smokin' was a he liked to do
She never said a to him but said a prayer for me
I told her in a way that I'd prayin' for her too

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

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