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Author Topic: Missing Lyric  (Read 3181 times)

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« on: November 17, 2008, 08:33:23 AM »

I was trying to find the Lyric for the song by Porter Wagoner called Mother Church using EvilLyrics, but could not find it, so I search the Web, and still could not find it so I played the song time after time and wrote the Lyric word for word. would like to share it in case someone else may want it so here it is.

Mother Church - Porter Wagoner

The old clock hands are moving
So soon it's time to go
We got time for one more song
Before we close the show
Roy Acuff plays his fiddle
To a classic country tune
And Minnie Pearl made us laugh
With her new hat in bloom
So if you like your music
countrified like me
You'd be next to heaven
At the Grand Ole Opry

Our Mother Church Of Country Music
Will open up her doors and let you in
And you might think you've seen an angel
And surely you will find your self a friend

(Talking Part )
You know there's so many country music legends
Graced the stage here it the Grand Ole Opry
I can almost see them now stars like
Hank Williams
The Great Tex Ritter
Gentlemen Jim Reeves
Patsy Cline
Cowboy Copas
Haksal Hawkins
The great Red Foley
The Dixie Dew Drop
Uncle Dave Macon
The great Lester Flatt
Mr. Tear Drop Marty Robbins
The Kentucky Wonder Stringbean
The Legendary Lefty Persel
The Duke of Paducah
Rod Brasfield
The Solemn Ole Judge the founder of the Grand Ole Opry
And The Great Ernest Tubbs

Our Mother Church Of Country Music
Will open up her doors and let you in
And you might think you've seen an angel
And surely you will find your self a friend
Surely you will find your self a friend
EvilLyrics forum
« on: November 17, 2008, 08:33:23 AM »

« Reply #1 on: April 08, 2010, 08:48:04 AM »

They say you can never go home again.

  Well, you can. Only you might find yourself staying at a Trave Lodge, driving a rented Ford Contour and staking out your childhood home like some noir private eye just trying to catch a glimpse of the Johnny-come-latelys that are now living in YOUR HOUSE.
wow power leveling
  It's a familiar story. wow power leveling Kids grow up, parents sell the family home and move to some sunnier climate, some condo somewhere, some smaller abode. We grown up kids box up all the junk from our childhoods—dusty ballet shoes, high school text books, rolled up posters of Adam Ant—and wonder where home went.

  I'm not a sentimental person, I told myself. I don't need to see old 3922 26th Street before we sell the place. I even skipped the part where I return home to salvage my mementos from the garage. I let my parents box up the stuff which arrived from San Francisco like the little package you get when released from jail. You know, here's your watch, the outfit you wore in here, some cash. Here's the person you once were.

  After a year, San Francisco called me home again. I missed it. High rents had driven all my friends out of the city to the suburbs so I made myself a reservation at a motel and drove there in a rented car.
Wow gold,
  The next day, Wow gold I cruised over to my old neighborhood. There was the little corner store my mom used to send me to for milk, the familiar fire station, the Laundromat.

  I cried like the sap I never thought I'd be. I sat in the car, staring at my old house, tears welling up. It had a fresh paint job, the gang graffiti erased from the garage door. New curtains hung in the window.

  I walked up and touched the doorknob like it was the cheek of a lover just home from war. I noticed the darker paint where our old mezuzah used to be. I sat on our scratchy brick stoop, dangling my legs off the edge, feeling as rootless as I've ever felt.
world of warcraft gold,
  You can't go home in a lot of ways, world of warcraft gold I discovered that night, when I met up with an ex-boyfriend.

  "Great to see you," he said, giving me a tense hug. "The thing is, I only have an hour."

  What am I, the LensCrafters of social engagements?
wow cd keys,
  As it happens, wow cd keys his new girlfriend wasn't too keen on my homecoming. We had a quick drink and he dropped me back off at my motel where I scrounged up my change to buy some Whoppers from the vending machine for dinner. I settled in for the evening to watch "Three to Tango" on HBO.

  "You had to watch a movie with a Friends' cast member," said my brother, nodding empathetically. "That's sad."

  My brother and I met up at our old house, like homing pigeons. We walked down the street for some coffee and I 19)filled him in on my trip. He convinced me to stay my last night at his new place in San Bruno, just outside the city. I'll gladly pay $98 a night just for the privilege of not inconveniencing anyone, but he actually seemed to want me.
wow power leveling,
  "I love having guests," wow power leveling he insisted. So I went.

  It's surprising how late in life you still get that "I can't believe I'm a grown-up feeling," like when your big brother, the guy who used to force you to watch "Gomer Pyle" reruns, owns his own place. It was small and sparse and he had just moved in but it was his. The refrigerator had nothing but mustard, a few cheese slices and fourteen cans of Diet 7-Up.

  We picked up some Taco Bell, rented a movie, popped some popcorn and I fell asleep on his couch.
dog clothes,
  Insomniacs rarely fall asleep on people's couches, dog clothes I assure you. I don't know why I slept so well after agonizing all weekend over the question of home, if I had one anymore, where it was. I only know that curled up under an old sleeping bag, the sound of some second-rate guy movie playing in the background, my brother in a chair next to me, I felt safe and comfortable and maybe that's part of what home is.

  But it's not the whole story. As much as I'd like to buy the cliches about home being where the heart is, or as Robert Frost put it, "The place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in," a part of me thinks the truth is somewhere between the loftiness of all those platitudes and the concreteness of that wooden door on 26th street.

  I'll probably be casing that joint from time to time for the rest of my life. I'll sit outside, like a child watching someone take away a favorite toy, and silently scream, "MINE!"

They say you can never go home again
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