MILL-WORKER HOUSES
LINED UP IN A ROW
ANOTHER SOUTHERN
SUNDAY'S
MORNIN' 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 MORNIN'
AIR AIN'T NOTHIN'
SWEETER AROUND
I CAN ALMOST HEAR
MY MAMA PRAYIN'
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
CANNONBALL
NOW THE HALLS OF
HISTORY ARE
COLD AND STILL
BUT THEY STILL SMELL
THE POWDER BURNIN'
AND THEY PROBABLY
ALWAYS WILL
AND ON THE OLD TOWN
SQUARE UNDER
THE BARBERSHOP POLE
THEY SAT ME UP
IN THE CHAIR WHEN
I WAS FOUR YEARS OLD
I CAN ALMOST HEAR
MY PAPA SAYIN'
WON'T YOU HOLD STILL
SON STOP SQUIRMIN'
AROUND
ANOTHER SOUTHERN
SUNDAY'S COMIN' DOWN
CAN ALMOST HEAR
THEM 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
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
IN THE SOUTH
I CAN HEAR MY MAMA
CALLIN' HO WOH
IN THE SOUTH
HOW I MISS THEM OLD
SWEET SUNDAYS
I CAN HEAR MY MAMA
CALLIN' HO WOH
IN THE SOUTH
IN THE SOUTH
OH ALRIGHT
I'LL MISS THE OLD
SWEET SUNDAYS