gone No, I ain't hoed a row Since I don't know when, long time gone And it ain't coming back again Deliah plays that ol' church pian'a Sitting out on
] Sadly, tragedy happen Lost in captivity, imagine me happily clappin Big barrels, heavy ammo, man the mammal Packed in commando, rapidly practice supreno Crack my fingers on pianos
Stand in front of your piano But we know what's going on Yes, we know what's going on We're the children of the choir, hey And we know what's going
day He used to race me in the Carolina sun Back when he was a young man And he could plow the fields until the day was done Mama played piano for the choir
Spiralling in curves and turns Dancing in the square Tonight the choir foolish sleeps But I am everywhere Wind is cold and shoulder bare Winter's fingers
a most inspired song. Shaper, stop the music. Halt the harp strings whose chords confuse our histories with textures. With the disheartened chorus of a hymnal whose choir
ry word's the Gospel truth Got witnesses ta prove it, too, 'Cause we all toured with a fella by the name a' Milton Now Milton was o-fficial tour director, Electrical piano
: Richie Snare Bass: Klaus Voorman Piano: Nicky Hopkins Guitars: Paul Keough, Les Thatcher Percussion: Ray Cooper, Richard Perry Orchestra and Choir conducted
on the wooden floor Mixture of polish and soap No children to fear or to play with Rows of empty hooks for the coats An upright piano and the boys in the choir
his trumpet. Bandsmen hammer at the cafe for the gypsy's drawbridge bottle. Choir boys pull on the zig-zag Of the monkey's dream piano. Fish eat stolen
, he was the assistant preacher and the Sunday school teacher In the church that I grew up in She was looker from Atlanta, led the choir, played piano
happen Lost in captivity, imagine me happily clappin Big barrels, heavy ammo, man the mammal Packed in commando, rapidly practice supreno Crack my fingers on pianos
gone No I ain't hoed a row since I don't know when Longtime gone And it ain't comin' back again Delia plays that ol' church piano Sittin' out on her
I was a little boy And the devil would call my name I'd say who do, Who do you think you're fooling I'm a country boy, I'm a singer in a Sunday choir
them into jars on the shelf But I'll have you know Oh, oh I'll have you know That if I had 10 or 20 I'd have a choir of little children sing along I'd have a choir
, he was the assistant preacher And the Sunday school teacher In the church that I grew up in She was a looker from Atlanta Led the choir, played piano
