Papa was a preacher down in Kankakee
where the soil was black as coal.
And the only job he ever had was planting of the seed,
and the harvesting of the soul.
And when we got together 'round the table every night,
he always sang the grace.
And I can hear my Mama singing high harmony,
while my Papa sang the bass.
And we sang Old One Hundred, and Walking in the Garden
And A Closer Walk With Thee.
And there never was a song that my Papa didn't know
And he taught 'em all to me.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI