Reverend Brantley knows he's prone to ramble
Reads the Bible like it's War and Peace
He goes on and on
You can't help but yawn
Even the righteous start to fall asleep
When he's 'bout to lose that front-row faithful
Pulls an ace out of his sleeve
Knows they need a hymn
So he shouts "Amen! Fire up the organ, Irene!"
She starts hammering glory mountain
Until there's no dry eye in the chapel
No one sitting in the pews
Hands up high all clapping
When Mama starts singing Hallelu-
Hallelu-, Hallelu-, yeah!
No dry eye in the chapel when Mama gets to singing the truth
Now mama's more than just a Sunday singer
She'll play anybody's wedding or wake
Long-shot, shotguns, third-time's-the-charm ones
Everybody's gonna get saved
When they kiss the bride and the B3 rides
There'll be no dry eye in the chapel
No one sitting in the pews
Hands up high all clapping
When Mama starts singing Hallelu-
Hallelu-, Hallelu-, yeah!
No dry eye in the chapel when Mama gets to singing the truth
Then late one night the Devil came calling
And Mama waved him right inside
She sang "Great Balls of Fire" like a gospel choir
And the Devil just started to cry
There'll be no dry eye in the chapel
No one sitting in the pews
Hands up high all clapping
When Mama starts singing Hallelu-
Hallelu-, Hallelu-, yeah!
No dry eye in the chapel when Mama gets to singing the truth
There'll be no dry eye in the
Chapel when Mama gets to singing the truth
Come on, Mama!