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 pray, "Oh, Lord, forgive us when we're down"

Another sacred Sunday in the South, all right

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
They still smell the powder burn 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 squirming around?"

Another Southern Sunday's coming down

I can almost hear the old folks say
You'll make it big one day
You'll leave this town
Some other lazy Sunday you'll be back around, all right

I can feel the evening sun go down
And all the lights in the house one by one go out
Softly in the distance, nothing 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
Ooh, just another Sunday
Oh, another sacred Sunday in the South

I can hear my mama calling
That evening sun has fallen
I missed him, oh, sweet Sunday
Ooh, another sacred Sunday
I can hear my mama calling in the South, all right
Yeah, just another Sunday
Oh, in the South
Oh, another sacred Sunday