Sunday In The South Lyrics

Sunday In The South lyrics

Mill worker houses lined up in a row,
another southern sunday morning
blow
Beneath the steeple all the people have begun
shakin' hands with the
man who grips the gospel gun
While the quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on
the ground
heals up the morning air, ain't nothin' sweeter around

I
can almost hear my mama pray:
"Oh lord forgive us when we
doubt,"
another sacred sunday in the south

A ragged rebel flag
flies high above it all
poping in the wind like an angry cannon ball
The
holes of history are cold and still,
but they smell the powder burnin' 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 papa say:
"Won't you hold still son, stop squirmn'
around 
another sacred sundays coming down"

(Instrumental
break)

I can almost hear the old folks say:
"You'll make it big
one day, you'll leave this town,"
another lazy sunday you can bank
around

(Instrumental break)

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
whipper-will

What a sunday in the south