[Verse 1]
One-room church on a red clay road,
White paint peeling where the kudzu grows.
Coal dust boots on a pine plank floor,
Same old bell, same crooked door.
Grandma’s Bible on her shaking knee,
Names in the margins, tears in the seams.
Says, “Baby, don’t you trade this hymn
For smoke and screens and glittered things.”
[Pre-Chorus]
’Cause when the night comes down like coal,
You don’t need a show, you need a soul.
[Chorus]
Give me that old time fire in the holler,
Foot-stomp floor and a worn-out altar.
Banjo ring and a cracked-voice choir,
Sinners and saints in the same church fire.
No spotlight, no smoke machine,
Just the blood, the book, and a Nazarene.
If it ain’t breaking chains, it’s just a song for hire—
I want that old, that old time fire.
[Verse 2]
River cold as a mountain vein,
Preacher wades in, calls our names.
Sunday clothes and our shaking hands,
Step on in to that muddy sand.
No PA, just a shout and a breeze,
Heaven leaning through the sycamore trees.
“I baptize you in the Name above,”
Graveyard watching from the hilltop bluff.
[Pre-Chorus]
We went under with our secrets known,
Came up gasping like we’d found home.
[Chorus]
Give me that old time fire in the holler,
Foot-stomp floor and a worn-out altar.
Fiddle cry and a hand-clap choir,
Broken hearts catching holy fire.
No spotlight, no smoke machine,
Just the blood, the book, and a Nazarene.
If it ain’t breaking chains, it’s just a song for hire—
I want that old, that old time fire.
[Instrumental Break – Appalachian Jam]
[Fiddle and banjo trade licks over a driving, foot-stomp groove]
[Bridge]
You can keep your polished praise,
Fog lights, neon, perfect phrasing.
I want saints with busted lungs,
Singing truth like old folk songs.
I want grace that smells like sweat,
Altars stained with honest regret.
If the cross don’t cost you scars,
You ain’t walked yet where the old paths are.
[Tag – Call & Response]
Leader: Can I get an amen in the hollow?
Response: Amen in the hollow.
Leader: Any prodigals left to follow?
Response: Come home from the sorrow.
[Final Chorus]
Give me that old time fire in the holler,
Foot-stomp floor and a worn-out altar.
Mountain wind through the open door,
Holy Ghost shaking these plank wood boards.
No spotlight, no smoke machine,
Just the blood, the book, and a Nazarene.
If it ain’t breaking chains, it’s just a song for hire—
I want that old, that old time fire.
[Outro]
Let the fiddle weep, let the rafters ring,
Old time fire for a dying spring.
