Daddy's been a back-row Baptist,
With his share of front-row sin.
His Saturday night still on his breathe,
Every Sunday when he'd walk in.
He's never led the Benediction,
He's never sang in the choir.
But he's an angel with no halo,
An' one wing in the fire.
Mamma lives by the Bible,
The Bible lives by the bed.
An' she's lied alone so many nights,
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