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 pinned roll 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