Luyện nghe bài hát The Little Lady Preacher

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

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

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

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

The Lord, knows how I loved her, He was there each she preached
But ol' Luther took her home each Sunday
Lookin' back I still recall the way it hurt my tender
I longed to be a hero but they're 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 been for her too

One Sunday her old man up and said that she was gone
Said she and brother Luther had a
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 seen them people since
Lord, if I judge 'em let me 'em lots o' room
I know ol' Luther Short and he's a hard ol' boy to
And often sat and wondered who it was converted whom