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 19 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
