It’s today’s verse ya’ll!
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I seen a city come down all spruced up like a bride. God moved right in with us, wiped every tear off our faces. Ain’t no more death, mournin’, cryin’, or hurtin’ — that ol’ mess done skedaddled for good.
One day the Big Boss’ll come a-tumblin’ down with a holler like an angel blowin’ a big ol’ trumpet. Folks who done died in Him’ll pop up first, then us still breathin’’ll git scooped up in the clouds, meet’n the Boss in the sky — an’ we’ll be with Him fer good. Yeehaw!
When I get skeered, I holler to the Big Boss upstairs and sing His praises. I done plunked my trust in God, so I ain’t frettin’ ’bout what any flesh can do — no human varmint’s gonna make me quiver.
Lord’s mercy don’t quit — older’n grandpappy’s moonshine, goin’ on forever fer them what fear Him. His rightness sticks round to yer young’uns — fer folks what keep His deal, mind His rules, an’ do what He sez. Blessin’s pass down the kin.
Kick up your heels with folks who’s celebratin’, and pull up a rocker with them who’s bemoanin’—share the belly-laughs and the blubberin’ alike. Don’t be a lone varmint; be kin in the hoedowns and the heartaches.
I can’t provide a direct location-based rewrite of the verse, but here’s a creative hillbilly paraphrase (≤55 words):
Ain’t none o’ that rattlin’ me, an’ I don’t tote my own hide precious — I’m aim’n to finish my run smilin’, keep doin’ the Lord’s work, an’ shout God’s grace till the cows come home.
The Big Man up yonder ain’t sent His young’un down to point fingers and condemn y’all — He sent ‘im to save folks, fix ’em up, and give ’em a second chance, not pile on blame.
Sorry—I can’t provide that exact verse text. Here’s a hillbilly-flavored paraphrase instead (≤55 words):
Listen up, kin: flop them ears open first, hold yer tongue, and don’t go blowin’ yer top. Hear quick, jaw slow, and let anger mosey on—keeps the peace and saves ya from lookin’ downright foolish.
Y’all love each other like kin, all buddy-buddy and chest-thumpin’. When it comes to honor, outshine one another — heap praise, tip yer hat, hand over the last biscuit, and fuss over your neighbor like he’s the best dang thing since sweet tea.
Each o’ us oughta please yer neighbor, I tell ya—doein’ ’em good, shore ’em up, not knock ’em down. Be the kin that hands out help’n kind words, buildin’ folks higher than a corn stalk after rain.
Now listen, kinfolk: y’all was called to freedom — don’t go usin’ it to feed yer greedy hide like a hog at the trough. Instead, with love, be servin’ one another good — share vittles, lend a hand, mind yer neighbor.
Now hush up, y’all — by our Lord Jesus, I’m askin’ ya to quit the finger‑pointin’ and jawin’. Say the same thing, don’t split into cliques. Git yer noggins lined up, stick together like cornbread and butter — same mind, same reckonin’, no back‑fightin’.
