Luyện nghe bài hát The Little Lady Preacher

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

She was nineteen years of age and was to a fault
But I will admit she knew the well
A little lace hanky marked the text that she would use
She'd into that microphone and send us all to hell

She had a guitar by the name of Luther Short
A soul, lost 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 for her too with what we call the doghouse bass
I clung to every word that passed her
She was down on booze and cigarettes and high on to come
And she'd punctuate the prophecy movements of her hips

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

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

One Sunday her old man showed up and said 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 they are, 'cause I seen them people since
Lord, if I 'em let me give 'em lots o' room
I know ol' Short and he's a hard ol' boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered who it was whom