Oh, the little lady preacher

From the limestone church

I'll never forget her, I guess

She preached each Sunday mornin'

On the local radio

With a big black Bible

And a snow-white dress

She was nineteen years of age

And was developed to a fault

But I will admit she knew the Bible well

A little white lace hanky marked the text

That she would use

She'd breathe into that microphone

And send us all to hell

She had a guitar picker

By the name of Luther Short

A hairy-legged soul, lost out in sin

She would turn and smile at Luther

When the program would commence

With a voice as sweet as angels

She would break out in a hymn

I was pickin' for her too with

What we call the doghouse bass

I clung to every word that passed her lips

She was down on booze and cigarettes

And high on days to come

And she'd punctuate the prophecy

With movements of her hips

The Lord, knows how I loved her,

He was there each time she preached

But ol' Luther took her home each Sunday morn'

Lookin' back I still recall the way

It hurt my tender pride

I longed to be a hero

But they're made not born

Sometimes ol' Luther showed up

At the studio half-tight

And smokin' was a thing he liked to do

She never said a word to him

But said a prayer for me

I told her in a way that

I'd been prayin' for her too

One Sunday her old man showed up

And said that she was gone

Said she and brother Luther had a call

I can see me standin' in

That studio that day

I had to face the heartbreak,

Unemployment and all

I don't know where they are,

'Cause I ain't seen them people since

Lord, if I judge 'em let me

Give 'em lots o' room

I know ol' Luther Short

And he's a hard ol' boy to change

And I've often sat and wondered

Who it was converted whom