The good kind

This man is the good kind.
Yeah, I might land on a hooked line,
But I don't get caught in the pocket.
I don't get mixed in the twist.
I can't pray through the damn wall,
And I do play in a band called Me,
But that wasn't me in the dance hall.
Not at all.

This girl got the right stuff.
Yeah, she might stall at the junction,
But she don't be hoppin' on no stray cars.
She don't get run off her tracks.
She can't pray like her baby do,
And she do raise a little hair sometime
She do raise a little hell sometime,
Who could've seen it in her own mind.
Nobody else but You.

Our God is a sound one.
Yeah, he might give a little kick and push,
Then go hide right by in that thicket brush.
How that thicket hush.
Naw he ain't there everytime I call.
He as shy as a newborn boy.
Just as shy as a newborn boy.
Screamin' loud like a hawthorne flower.
Think you can? You can't ignore.
No not at all.

So she gonna raise a little hair and hell.
I'm gonna play in a band and wail.
While we ridin' his coattails,
And we might do this 'til we gone.