I was taught to recognize the scent of pine

And church pews.

To listen closely to a preachers praise

and even closer to his warnins'.

Because momma always said,

"The Devil is good friends with Georgia.."

I was raised to get high off of prayer

And bible verses.

God was to fill us all with the Holy Spirit

And we were to accept it and be happy.

Because that's what the Church taught us

And the Church was always right.

Sunday gatherins' were all the rage those days.

When Sister Sue baked pies for the hungry,

Then after, complained about their hunger.

Because Heaven forbid you preferred cake.

(That was a sin in those parts)

Food and family gatherins' were like a holiday.

Cept' of course, on the good lords birthday,

Where gluttony and greed were more important than

God.

But you still attended mass,

or Hell came knocking.

Growin' up in a small town

Outside of the rest of the world,

Isn't as easy as y'all would think.

But no one really understands, because

Church goin' folk are perfect

And human qualities are just thrown on out the window,

Right?

Wrong.

Sunday mass was much more than shoutin'

and preachin'.

If you looked closely,

you could see the fear in our good ol' preachers eyes.

The fear that the lord was watchin' him

And if the wrong words came out,

He'd look away.

We were taught to fear the lord that made us.

To wear our skirts long

and our collars high,

And to shut up when we disagreed.

Because the burnin' in our lungs

Was nothing,

Compared to the fire of Hell

and the wrath of God.

It's a little funny in our little town,

To see a mass full of hypocritical,

God fearin' people

Act out their silly lives.

Folk that would bless you,

but in the same breath

Condemn you for your differences.

Now ain't that somethin'?

Growin' up Baptist, you see a lot of things.

You notice the good in people, and right after,

Learn the bad.

You learn how to lie to folk

And not really mean it.

Because who ever really tells the truth?