I don’t go much on religion,
I never ain’t had no show;
But I’ve got a middlin’ tight grip, sir,
On the handful o’ things I know.
I don’t pan out on the prophets
And free-will and that sort of thing—
But I b’lieve in God and the angels,
Ever sence one night last spring.
I come into town with some turnips,
And my little Gabe come along—