I think I’ll go to church next week, and I going to tell you why.
I’m getting kinda old and someday I’m sure to die.
It’s hard to say just where I’ll go, to hell or up to heaven,
It could be either place, it’s like shooting dice and hoping for a seven.
Now the seven is all right if it comes the first time around,
But then you can’t go changing numbers when your six feet under ground.
Now I know heavens mighty nice, the good book says it ‘s so,
But hell’s a different story, I don’t think we quite know.
We say some things about it and none are very nice,
We knock it when the wind blows or even when there’s rain or ice.
We say how things are colder than or maybe hotter too,
We even mention hell when there’s quite a few.
We say some people look like hell, but we don’t know what that means,
It could be a plump girl wearing small size blue jeans.
I know of people that drive like hell, but are there any cars?
Is hell really on wheels and heading for the bars?
Can you really be sicker than or does it really smell?
Could you run out of money and be broker than all hell.
So I’m going to take the up hill way and try to do things right.
I’ll go to church and watch my words and hope I see the light.
I’ll listen to the preacher and read some on my own,
I’ll shout the words of praise and I’ll not cuss on the phone.
I’ll obey the laws, of God and man alike,
I’ll never the tell the stories of two guys like Pat and Mike.
So when the undertaker comes and lays me down to rest,
I surely hope and pray that I have passed the test.
But I’ll still leave instructions about the casket that I’m in,
To put some glass on top and on the bottom put thick tin.
Then maybe I’ll have a better chance on the way I’m going to go.
But like I said in the beginning, I guess I’ll never know.