Millworker houses lined up in a row
Another southern sundays 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, aint nothin sweeter around
I can almost hear my mama prayin
Oh Lord forgive us when we doubt
Another sacred sunday in the south, alright
A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all
Poppin in the wind like an angry cannon ball
Now the coals 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
Wont you hold still, son, stop squirmin around
Another southern sundays comin down
I can almost hear them old folks sayin
Youll make it big, one day youll leave this town
Some other lazy sunday, youll be back around. Alright
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 whipporwill
On a sunday in the south, alright
Just another sunday, just another sunday in the south
Another sacred sunday in the south
I can hear my mama callin
Oh-oh-oh
In the south
Just another sunday in the south
How I miss the old sweet sunday
Another sacred sunday in the south
I can hear my mama callin
Oh-oh-oh
In the south
Just another sunday in the south