Written by Bobbie Gentry

Up at five and done with the chores, the family piles in the pickup
Meetin’ at the church house all the folk’s from miles around
And packed between mama and daddy and all of the kids is a bushel basket
Heading for an all day country singing and dinner on the ground

Where they’ll sing, glory hallelujah, how they’ll sing

Ladies dab their throats and brows with hand embroidered linen
Cool their dampened feedsack bodices with cardboard fans
Fans that advertize on one side Lanie’s funeral parlor
While Jesus on the other side out stretches nail-scarred hands

And they sing, glory hallelujah, how they’ll sing

Do me so, la so me do, do re me, fa ti do
Do me so, la so me do, do re me, fa ti do

A Deacon in a white nylon short sleeve shirt leads the singing
A book of matches in his pocket, and a ball point pen
Inside the cover of the matches is the Deacons name and address
Enroll him in a course that’s offered to outstanding men

And he sings, glory hallelujah, how he’ll sing
And he sings, glory hallelujah, how he’ll sing

Now let’s turn to page three forty in our Broadman hymnals
A thin gold banded hand prepares to strike the opening chord
A small boy whispers to his mama: “Do natives go to heaven?”
And they lift their voices to the sky, sing praises to the lord

And they’ll sing, glory hallelujah, how they’ll sing
And they’ll sing, oh glory hallelujah, how they’ll sing
And they’ll sing, glory hallelujah, how they’ll sing