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Hillbilly Hymn

Nathan Evans Fox
Popularity · Low
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Lyrics

When the Lord comes back ain't gonna be no cops You can cook your own, you can smoke your crops All the boys gonna wear the pretty things When the Lord comes back ain't gotta prove a thing When the Lord comes back I'm gonna drive real slow Gonna go wherever the spirit goes Gonna dog pill and talk and cuss Ain't no boss gonna make a fuss When the Lord comes back I'm gonna drive real slow Well every high place gonna be brought low Every high place gonna be brought low When kingdom comes no one for nothing It's just a long table, a mess of beans and honey buns The trucks are small, the trains are late The men pick up their dinner plates Ain't nobody sees it, the debts are paid The guns are all for shooting clays The guns are all for shooting clays The guns are all for shooting clays When the Lord comes back the rich get scared Ain't gotta act mean to be treated fair All the living zombies die into Our bodies return as heirlooms Could already come a time or two And they kill him like they tend to do So I'm praying for the mighty to fall Else ain't no use in prayer at all When the Lord comes back I'll do my best To share my okra and cigarettes Break every law I can't respect Leave some tall grass for all the critters rest When the Lord comes back I'll do my best To share my okra and cigarettes To share my okra and cigarettes To share my okra and cigarettes