“Devil Had the Backseat”

Yeah…

I been broke down, beat up, sideways and sinnin’…

But the good Lord still let me crawl back in.

Now there’s a little gospel in my gravel…

And a little Heaven in this honky-tonk noise.

I was raised on red dirt, backroads, and bad luck,

Cheap beer nights in a rusted-up truck,

Had smoke in my lungs and pain in my chest,

Whole town figured I’d die like the rest.

But Mama kept prayin’ with tears in her eyes,

Said, “Son, God’ll find you one night.”

And sure enough, somewhere past midnight blue,

Grace came crashin’ through.

Now I got a little soul in my step,

Little brass in my sound,

Little “Amen” rhythm

Every time that beat drops down.

The devil had the backseat,

Jesus took the wheel,

Now I’m two-steppin’ barefoot

Through the way I feel.

Got a trumpet blowin’ glory,

Choir stompin’ through the room,

Little bit of Heaven

Mixed with southern moonshine blues.

Yeah, I still got scars,

Still got dirt on these boots,

But the good Lord makes revival

Outta people like me and you.

Now the jukebox jumps when I walk through the door,

Old folks clappin’ on the hardwood floor,

Grandma shoutin’ “Hallelujah!” in the back,

While the bass line shakes them wall cracks.

I got a voice full of gravel and grace,

Pain and redemption all over my face,

And every note sounds sweeter somehow

Since Heaven pulled me out.

(Trumpet solo / choir hums)

I ain’t sayin’ I’m perfect now,

Still fightin’ demons anyhow,

But every Sunday, every song,

I feel the Lord pullin’ me along.

So let that brass band testify,

Let that steel guitar cry,

‘Cause salvation sounds a whole lot like

Saturday night turned Sunday sunrise.

The devil had the backseat,

Jesus took the wheel,

Now I’m singin’ redemption

Like a heart finally healed.

With trumpet gold and gospel fire,

Hands raised to the sky,

A little Louis soul

With that deep south county vibe.

Yeah, the road got rough,

But grace brought me through,

And the good Lord still makes miracles

Outta people like me and you.

So stomp your boots,

Raise your hands,

Let the choir shake this land—

‘Cause grace sounds better

With a little swing band.

Trumpets blarin’ like Heaven opened wide,

Steel guitar cryin’ while the choir testified,

Boots on the hardwood stompin’ in time,

Hands raised high underneath neon signs.

Got that deep south soul with a backroad beat,

Old revival fire mixed with Bourbon Street,

Gravel in the voice, redemption in the sound,

Like angels and outlaws all throwin’ down.

The devil lost the fight when grace stepped in,

Now every scar sings like a gospel hymn.

From the front porch swing to the church house pew,

The good Lord still makes somethin’ beautiful outta the broken and bruised.