I think that people who go to church in tents are funny.
They dance like the chicken they decapitated for dinner the night before.
They spread the word of the Lord like jam on a homemade biscuit.
Slam the tambourine and sing.
They put on their best dungarees and hand me down floral dresses.
He wants to hear their stories. He wants to hear their troubles.
He will make them happy. He will make them feel better about the day and the night.
He will fry their chicken.
He will jar their preserves.
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