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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Michael Ray
Michael Ray
Vocals
Danny Rader
Danny Rader
Acoustic Guitar
Ross Copperman
Ross Copperman
Programming
Fred Eltringham
Fred Eltringham
Drums
Rob McNelley
Rob McNelley
Electric Guitar
Dave Cohen
Dave Cohen
Keyboards
Steve Mackey
Steve Mackey
Bass Guitar
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Ashley Gorley
Ashley Gorley
Songwriter
Ben Johnson
Ben Johnson
Songwriter
Hunter Phelps
Hunter Phelps
Songwriter
Michael Hardy
Michael Hardy
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Ross Copperman
Ross Copperman
Producer
Joel McKenney
Joel McKenney
Assistant Recording Engineer
Buckley Miller
Buckley Miller
Recording Engineer
Trey Keller
Trey Keller
Editing Engineer
Luke Reynolds
Luke Reynolds
Vocal Recording Engineer
Andrew Mendelson
Andrew Mendelson
Mastering Engineer
Scott Johnson
Scott Johnson
Assistant Producer

Lyrics

Somewhere inside them bad Florida pines There's a town with a crackled on name There's a little white church in a real tight curve On the edge of a field full of grain Yeah, the preacher was a stand you man shakin' hands Every Sunday morning at the door He loved his congregation but he ran an operation Sellin' more than the word of the Lord And he called it holy water He called it holy water, yeah He bought a brand-new Lincoln Had a couple deacons thinkin' It was more than he could afford They knew somethin' was up when he was shuttin' his trunk At the church around one in the morning When he was out of sight they snuck around inside And found a door leading under the ground They popped a lock on the latch Walked down and flashed their lights and guess what they found A cellar full of water No one knows where it comes from, buddy But you can find it anywhere from 'Bama to Kentucky Got the whole damn southeast side of the country Lining up to pay top dollar Jar tops twist when the sun starts settin' It burns like hell, get you high like heaven, and Lord Have mercy if they knew where they were gettin' that holy water Well, the deacons pulled up to his house in truck With the proof all crystal clear He tried to play it off but he knew he was caught So he said, "Brothers listen here You can call the law or you can keep a secret I'll cut you in and we can call it even" Next Sunday morning 'round ten o'clock There was two more Lincolns in the parking lot No one knows where it comes from, buddy But you can find it anywhere from 'Bama to Kentucky Got the whole damn southeast side of the country Lining up to pay top dollar Jar tops twist when the sun starts settin' It burns like hell, get you high like heaven, and Lord Have mercy if they knew where they were gettin' that holy water Now there's new stained glass, new pews front to back Nobody even asked no questions And a sign out front with some letters readin' John chapter two, verse one
Writer(s): Ashley Gorley, Michael Hardy, Hunter Phelps, Ben Johnson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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