Mill worker houses lined up in a row
Another southern Sunday's morning 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 morning air, ain't nothin' sweeter around
I can almost hear my Momma praying
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 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 barber shop pole
They sat me up in the chair when I was four years old
I can almost hear my Poppa 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, alright
I can feel the evenin' Sun go down
And 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
Ooh, just another Sunday
Oh, another sacred Sunday in the south
I can hear my mama callin', that evenin' Sun is fallin'
I missed them old sweet Sundays, ooh
Oh, another sacred Sunday
I can hear my mama callin', in the south, alright
Yeah
Just another Sunday (Oh, whoa), in the south
Oh, another sacred Sunday
