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