In the town of Tipton, Georgia,
on a hot and dusty day
You could see the heat coming
off the ground
Up the street a man came running,
stumbling on his way
And he shouted that the gospel sang
is coming to our town
Hallelujah,
the gospel singer is coming
Hallelujah, the gospel singer is coming
He was born in Tipton, Georgia
With a voice as pure as gold
And his hair was golden as the sun
Drink and wo men were his friends
But the people did not know
That he did not feel the
songs he sung
Hallelujah! The gospel
singer is coming
Hallelujah! Ooh, yeah, yeah,
the gospel singer is a -comin'
In a tent, a thick tarpaulin,
in a pasture near the town
The people came and waited all day long
There were some who could not walk,
and some who could not see
And it was believed
that he couldn't help
them with his songs
But the singer, he had grown tired
of the life that he had lived
And to the rich and poor, sick and crippled,
he looked at them and said
I cannot kill your youth,
and I cannot make you see
For I've loved your wo men,
and I sang to you for money
In the town of Tipton, Georgia,
the sun was a -risin'
But not a soul was seen out on the street
But some had gathered in the pasture
I was staring silently
at the shadow of the singer
Near the tall and lonesome pine tree
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah