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The Little Lady Preacher

Song Author Tom T. Hall Performer: Tom T. Hall Submitted by: Anonymous

[C]Oh the little lady preacher from the [F]Limestone [C]Church
I'll never forget her I [G7]guess
She [C]preached each Sunday morning on [F]the local rad[C]io  
With a big black Bible and [G7]a snow white [C]dress

She was [F]nineteen years of age and was [C]developed to a fault
But I will admit she knew the Bible [G7]well   
A [F]little white lace hankie marked the [C]text that she would use
She´d breathe into that microphone and [G7]send us all to [C]hell

She had a guitar picker by the [F]name of Luther [C]Short
A hairy legged soul lost out in [G7]sin   
She would [C]turn and smile at Luther when the [F]program would [C]commence
With a voice as sweet as angels' she would [G7]break out in a [C]hymn

I was [F]picking for her too with what we [C]called the doghouse bass
I clung to every word that passed her [G7]lips   
She [F]was down on booze and cigarettes and [C]high on days to come
And she'd punctuate the prophecy with [G7]movements of her [C]hips

The Lord knows how I loved her he was [F]there each time she [C]preached
But old Luther took her home each Sunday [G7]morn   
Looking [C]back I still recall the way it [F]hurt my tender [C]pride
I longed to be a hero but they're [G7]made not [C]born

Some[F]times old Luther showed up at the [C]studio half tight
And smoking was a thing he liked to [G7]do   
She [F]never said a word to him but [C]said a prayer for me
I told her in a way that I've been [G7]praying for her [C]too  

One Sunday her old man showed up and [F]said that she was [C]gone
Said she and brother Luther had a [G7]call   
I [C]can see me standing in that [F]studio that [C]day  
I had to face the heartbreak unem[G7]ployment and [C]all  

I [F]don't know where they are cause I [C]ain't seen them people since
Lord if I judge 'em let me give 'em lots of [G7]room   
I [F]know Luther Short and he's a [C]hard old boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered who it [G7]was converted [C]whom


Oh the little lady preacher from the Limestone Church
I'll never forget her I guess
She preached each Sunday morning 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 hankie 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 picking for her too with what we called 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 old Luther took her home each Sunday morn
Looking back I still recall the way it hurt my tender pride
I longed to be a hero but they're made not born

Sometimes old Luther showed up at the studio half tight
And smoking 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've been praying 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 standing 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 of room
I know Luther Short and he's a hard old boy to change
And I've often sat and wondered who it was converted whom

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