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