Lyrics:

I knew a preacher from Atlanta, Georgia
He was a preacher's son
Sunday mornin' in the pulpit wit' the spirit
Friday night havin' his
Funky like that, blues funky like that
He wore Stacy Adams shoes
Stetson hat
And when he'd had enough whisky
He'd sing the blues
Funky like that, blues funky like that
He told me, 'Son, in every sinner (yeah)
There's a little bit of saint
In every saint, there's a little sinner' (he-he-hey)
Funky like that

He had a store-front church on Auburn
You could hear it rock
The Hallelujah Corner clappin' so loud
Way down the block
Funky like that (well, hey, hey) real funky like that
Blues funky like that (how, how, how, well, hey)
You know they had me hooked
From the very first song
And to tell the truth, people
I don't think I've been in church that long
The collection plate was full, so
He pulled off his hat
He said, 'Feel the bottom, 'cause you know
The blues, they funky like that'
We piled up around me, sugar
People crying, but they ain't sad
How in the world did that man make folks
Give 'em everything that they had?
'Cause he's funky like that (no, no)
(Uh-huh) blues funky like that (well)
(Well) the blues, they funky like that
(Come on, come on, come on, come on)
Blues funky like that
(Hmm) blues funky like that
Blues funky like that
(He-he-hey) 'cause they funky like that (well)
(How, how, how) blues funky like that
(Oh, no) hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, well