I was raised up a Southern Baptist,
Never missed a Sunday
There I'd be, fourth row back
To hear what the preacher would say
He preached of pearly gates,
Streets paved with gold
He said we'd see our passed loved ones
And treasures we would behold
He spoke of damnation should we stray
In the lake of fire there to dwell
But honestly, I always thought,
I'd have to die to go to hell