Sunday In the South

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