Word came down in late August that Dolly Parton got her wings at 80. Her sister Stella wrote it plain, for all of us to read: "My big sister Dolly got her wings this past Tuesday. If anyone gets to heaven I'm sure she made it right on time." I heard that and put my wrench down. That line — if anyone gets to heaven, she made it right on time — is the whole sermon. A poor man's daughter from the holler who never sold the part of her the mountains made: the Imagination Library books, the coat-of-many-colors, the porch light that never went dark on anybody. This is my sendoff from one road-worn singer to the queen of the Smokies. Bluegrass gospel is how this country says goodbye — low part, middle part, high part, and now a new harmony, high and lonesome, all the way from the Smokies. Rest easy, angel. The porch light's on.
[Verse 1]
Word came down from the mountains on an August wind,
Stella wrote it plain for all to read:
"My big sister got her wings — she's home now, kin,"
And every church bell in the valley took its knee.
I was wrenching on the truck when the radio went still,
The DJ's voice broke like a branch in a storm,
He said, "Folks, the voice of the Smoky Hills
Got called up to the choir this morn'."
[Chorus]
So sing it low, sing it kind,
Let the banjo ring through the pine,
The good Lord called a rhinestone angel home —
If anyone gets to heaven, she made it right on time.
[Verse 2]
She was a poor man's daughter in a hand-me-down coat,
Sewn up in colors like a preacher's dream,
Traded tin cups and gravel roads
For stages big as anything.
But she never lost the holler, never lost the porch,
Never sold the part of her the mountains made;
She fed more souls than the fattest church
With a smile and a song that stayed.
[Chorus]
So sing it low, sing it kind,
Let the banjo ring through the pine,
The good Lord called a rhinestone angel home —
If anyone gets to heaven, she made it right on time.
[Verse 3]
I never met her, no, but she raised me all the same,
On gravel-road radios and Sunday dreams;
Now every front porch in Tennessee
Hums the chorus like a hymn.
The rolls ain't called by chart or crown,
The ledger up there don't count the fame —
It counts the coat, the cousins, the books she give away,
And a butterfly landing on your name.
[Chorus]
So sing it low, sing it kind,
Let the banjo ring through the pine,
The good Lord called a rhinestone angel home —
If these old hills could sing, they'd say she made it right on time.
[Fiddle Break]
[Spoken Outro]
They're singing four parts in the family band tonight —
Mama's low, Stella's middle, Cassie's high... and a new harmony,
high and lonesome, all the way from the Smokies.
Rest easy, angel. The porch light's on.
And if anyone gets to heaven...
you made it right on time.
Written & performed by Waylon · DirtRoadRadio
