Millworker houses lined up in a row
Another southern Sunday's mornin' glow
Beneath the steeple, all the people have begun
Shakin' hands with the man who grips the gospel gun
While in quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on the ground
Fills up the mornin' air, ain't nothin' sweeter around
I can almost hear my mama prayin'
"Oh, Lord, forgive us when we doubt"
Another sacred Sunday in the south, oh
A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all
Poppin' in the wind like an angry cannon ball
Now the holes of history are cold and still
But they still smell the powder burnin'
And they probably always will
And on the old town square, under the barber shop pole
They set me up in the chair when I was four years old
I can almost hear my papa sayin'
'Won't you hold still, son, stop squirmin' around"
Another southern Sunday's comin' down
I can almost hear them old folks say
"You'll make it big, one day, you'll leave this town
Some other lazy Sunday, you'll be back around"
I can feel the evenin' sun go down
All the lights in the houses one by one go out
Softly in the distance, nothin' stirs about
And the night is filled with the sound of a whippoorwill
On a Sunday in the south, alright
(Just another Sunday)
Just another Sunday in the south
Oh, another sacred Sunday in the south
(Ooh, just another Sunday)
How I miss those old sweet Sundays in the south
(Ooh, another sacred Sunday)
I can hear my mama callin' in the south, alright
(Ooh, just another Sunday) oh-whoa-whoa
