Sunday In the South

Mill worker houses lined up in a row

Another Southern Sunday's morning glow

Beneath the steeple, all the people have begun

Shaking hands with the man who grips the gospel gun

While in quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on the ground

Fills up the morning air, ain't nothing sweeter around

I can almost hear my mama praying

"Oh, Lord, forgive us when we doubt"

Another sacred Sunday in the South, alright

A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all

Popping in the wind like an angry cannonball

Now the holes of history are cold and still

But they still smell the powder burning and they probably always will

And on the old town square, under the barbershop pole

They set me up in the chair when I was four years old

I can almost hear my papa saying

"Won't you hold still, son? Stop squirmin' around"

Another Southern Sunday's coming down

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, alright"

I can feel the evening sun go down

All the lights in the houses, one by one, go out

Softly in the distance, nothing stirs about

And the night is filled with the sound of a whip-poor-will

On a Sunday in the South, alright

(Just another Sunday) Just another Sunday in the South

(Another sacred Sunday) I can hear my mama callin', oh

In the South

(Just another Sunday) How I miss them old sweet Sundays

(Another sacred Sunday) I can hear my mama callin', oh

In the South

(Just another Sunday) In the South, oh, alright

(Another sacred Sunday) How I miss them old