| You paint stories like the Sistine Chapel |
| Make Heaven out of apple pie |
| With sweet tea on the side |
| The way you talk to God like he’s an old friend |
| Would make anyone wanna meet him |
| You’re the voice of reason when I’m losing my mind |
| And oh, you’re how I know |
| Angels wear white pearls, and pray on front porch swings |
| Love the piano and ain’t scared of damn near anything |
| They’re daughters turned to mothers, raising their own baby girls |
| You’re how I know angels |
| Angels wear white pearls |
| You’ve got your own little Garden of Eden |
| With dogwoods and blue birds feeding |
| I can never quite get my front yard looking good as yours |
| So I’ll just have to visit much as I can |
| Lord knows I miss ya |
| Your amazing grace inspires me |
| Yeah I got faith 'cause I believe |
| Angels wear white pearls, and pray on front porch swings |
| Love the piano, and ain’t scared of damn near anything |
| They’re daughters turned to mothers, raising their own baby girls |
| You’re how I know angels |
| Angels wear white pearls |
| Angels wear white pearls |
| Oh, oh |
| Oh, oh |
| Oh, oh |
| Oh, oh |
| Angels wear white pearls, and pray on front porch swings |
| Love the piano, and ain’t scared of damn near anything |
| They’re daughters turned to mothers, raising their own baby girls |
| Daughters turned to mothers, raising their own baby girls |
| They’re daughters turned to mothers, raising their own baby girls |
| You’re how I know angels |
| Angels wear white pearls |