A farmer and a teacher, a hooker and a preacher,
Ride'n on a midnight bus, bound for Mexico
One was headed for vacation,
One for higher education,
And two of them were searching for lost souls.
That driver never ever saw that stop sign,
And eighteen wheelers can't stop on a dime.
There are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.
Why there's not four of them, heaven only knows.
I guess it's not what you take, when you leave this world behind you.
It's what you leave behind you when you go.
That farmer left a harvest, a home, and eighty acres,
The faith and love for growing things, in his young sons heart.
And that teacher left her wisdom, in the minds of lots of children,
Did her best to give them all a better start.
And that preacher whispered, can't you see the promised land,
As he laid that blood stained Bible in that hookers hand.
There are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.
Why there's not four of them, heaven only knows.
I guess it's not what you take, when you leave this world behind you.
It's what you leave behind you when you go.
That's the story that our preacher told last Sunday,
As he held that blood stained Bible up for all of us to see.
He said, bless the farmer and the teacher and the preacher,
Who gave this Bible to my Mama, who read it to me.
There are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.
Why there's not four of them, now I guess we know.
It's not what you take, when you leave this world behind you.
It's what you leave behind you when you go.
There are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.