Sunday In The South

Millworker houses lined up in a row

Another southern sunday's morning glow

Beneath the steeple all the people had begun

Shaking hands with the man who grips the gospel gun

While the 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 doubt

Another sacred sunday in the south, alright

A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all

Popping the wind like an angry cannon ball

Now the coals of history are cold and still

But they still smell the powder burning, and they probaly always will

And on the old town square, under the barber shop pole

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

I can almost hear my papa say

Won't you hold still, son, stop squirming around

Another southern sunday's comin' down

I can almost hear the old folks say

You made it big, one day you'll leave this town

Some other lazy sunday, you'll be back around

I can feel the evening sun go down

And 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 whipporwill

Want a sunday in the south, alright

Just another sunday in the south

Oh, another sacred sunday in the south

How I miss them old sweet sundays in the south

I can hear my mama calling, in the south, alright

Oh-oh-oh

In the south