Up at five and done with chores, the family piles in the pickup Meetin' at the church house all the folks from miles around Packed between Mama and Daddy and all of the kids is a bushel basket Headin' for an all-day country singin' 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 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 singin' A book of matches in his pocket and a ball point pen Inside the cover of the matches is the deacon's name and address Enrollin' in a course that's offered to outstandin' men And he sings, glory hallelujah how he'll sing And he sings, glory hallelujah how he'll sing Now, lets turn to page three-forty in our Broadman hymnals A pinned roll banded hand prepares to strike the openin' 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