Search results for all in his hands by mississippi mass choir

We've found 144 lyrics, 100 artists, and 100 albums matching all in his hands by mississippi mass choir:


Albums:

The Mississippi Mass Choir (The Mississippi Mass Choir) · The Mississippi Mass Choir (The Mississippi Mass Choir) · From His Head to His Heart to His Hands (Michael Bloomfield) · From His Head to His Heart to His Hands (Electric Flag) · Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Vienna Boy's Choir (Mormon Tabernacle Choir) · Mass Choir Gospel (Hutchinson, Hutch) · Mass Choir Gospel, Vol. 2 (New Jersey Mass Choir of the GMWA) · Best of the Dallas Fort Worth Mass Choir (Dallas Fort Worth Mass Choir) · Best of Joe Pace & the Colorado Mass Choir (Joe Pace & the Colorado Mass Choir) · Dallas Fort Worth Mass Choir Superset [Light] (Dallas Fort Worth Mass Choir) – and 90 other albums »


Waitin' there by the side of the River
Waitin' there but she did not show
Wringin' his hands & shakin' his head
Checkin' his watch, it's time
It was a hot Sunday mornin'
Middle of July
The choir was a singin'
'Bout the sweet by and by

Everybody was a swayin'
And sweatin' in the heat
In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And all
All God's critters got a place in the choir
Some sing low, some sing higher
Some sing out loud on the telephone wires
And some just clap their hands
In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And all
Everybody's gotta have 
Flesh - it's got me all soaking wet 
Flesh - the only thing that's worth the sweat, yeah 
From the Mississippi River 
To the highest
Every Sunday God wakes up to everybody's problems
All those voices asking for forgiveness
Half asleep he waves his hand to quickly mass absolve
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon, 
Where many the ructions meself had a hand in.
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade, 
And all
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon,
Where many the ructions meself had a hand in.
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
And all
say You want to share
The power no one will withstand
Just be my human hand

I know your secrets
I know it all

[Band as choir (1)]
[Solo 1]
Caller called Casey bout half past four he kissed his wife at the station door
He climbed in the cabin with his orders in his hand
Said this is the trip
strobe lights
Blinding me in my hindsight
Finding me by myself
Promise me you can help
In all honesty I got time to be copacetic until
You had finally made
Sister Victoria
Stepped in from the freezing cold
No candles would light at Evening Mass

The days passed by without a sigh
But dusk came thick with
Caller called Casey bout half past four he kissed his wife at the station door
He climbed in the cabin with his orders in his hand

Said this is
Caller called Casey bout half past four he kissed his wife at the station door
He climbed in the cabin with his orders in his hand
Said this is the trip
fate

The place is cursed by the hands of doom
Unholy powers in reign
The devil's paradise of pain
Approach!
The Eibon opens for you
The choirs
any mortal thing his hands stretch to infinity
All encompassing the flock there's no life in here any more
Deeper than hades he brings to his side
hands, or paws, or anything they've got now

All God's creatures got a place in the choir
Some sing low and some sing higher,
Some sing out loud
cursed by the hands of doom
Unholy powers in reign
The devil's paradise of pain
Approach !
The Eibon opens for you
The choirs of damnation, call you
Well, down in Mississippi, there's a little bitty town
And there ain't much happens 'till the sun goes down
Then all the people come from miles
Well, down in Mississippi, there's a little bitty town
And there ain't much happens 'till the sun goes down
Then all the people come from miles
I guess we all know it

Hand in hand we stand while we watch you flow
Heaven can you help us, where we can't go

Covered by roses
When this
on his thumb
And a fiddle in his hand

He tunes up the fiddle and he rosins up the bow
And he plays an old tune called 'Cotton Eyed Joe'
And they dance all
from nowhere out on the desert sand
One Eyed Jack the trader hold some turquoise in his hand
By his side sat Running Elk his longtime Indian friend
He
out. Mass confusion here. All the doors have been locked. A shot rang out as he was led into his car. A shot... there's a mass confusion here. Rolling