Sunday in the South

Sunday In The South - The Hit Crew

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 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

Poppin' in the wind like an angry cannon ball

Now 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 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

I can feel the evening sun go down

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 whip-poor-will

What a Sunday in the south alright

Just another Sunday

Just another Sunday in the south

Oh another sacred Sunday in the south

Just another Sunday

How I missed those all sweet Sundays in the south

Another sacred Sunday

I can hear my mama comin ' in the south

Just another Sunday oh oh oh

Another sacred Sunday

Just another Sunday

Another sacred Sunday