From Mama's Porch

There's a front porch up in heaven, where the streets are made of clay. Mama Rops has the aim to sing and they get all lost away. Southern Breeze blows softly, sweet Jasmine fills the air. There's a front porch up in heaven, and they're waiting for me there. I can hear the sisters harmony singing something clear and sweet. Singing what a friend in Jesus just a close-up awkwardly. That old home place is still standing, though the streets are made of clay. House in love and heaven, the same refuge from stone. There's a front porch up in heaven, where the streets are made of clay. Mama Rops has the aim to sing and they get all lost away. That old home place is still standing, though the port is a gray lord. House in love and heaven, the same refuge from stone. I can hear the sound of an old guitar and a dear old daddy playing. Those tapping time to angel band of a bright and cloudless day. And I think that I see Jesus with no brother who stands in the air. House in love and heaven, and they're waiting for me there. There's a front porch up in heaven, where the streets are made of clay. Mama Rops has the aim to sing and they get all lost away. That old home place is still standing, though the port is a gray lord. House in love and heaven, the same refuge from stone. There's a front porch up in heaven, and they're waiting for me there.