Mill worker houses lined up in a row Another southern Sunday's morning glow Beneath the steeple all the people have begun Shaking 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 nothing sweeter around I can almost hear my Momma praying "Oh Lord forgive us when we doubt", another sacred Sunday in the south oh
A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all Popping 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 come 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 whippoorwill On 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 old sweet Sundays in the south Another sacred Sunday I can hear my Momma calling The south alright Just another Sunday oh, oh, ohTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
