Lyrics
Another southern sunday morning blow, mill worker houses lined up in a row Shenandoah, beneath the steeple all the people have begun
Mill worker houses lined up in a row, i can almost hear the old folks say
ain t nothin sweeter around
While the quiet prayer, stop squirmn around
Stop squirmn around, and all the lights in the houses one by one go out
Stop squirmn around, the smell of dinner on the ground, the smell of dinner on the ground
I can feel the evening sun go down, and the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil
i can feel the evening sun go down
A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all, heals up the morning air
And all the lights in the houses one by one go out, a ragged rebel flag flies high above it all, i can almost hear my papa say
While the quiet prayer, i can almost hear my papa say
Some other lazy sunday you ll come back around, popping in the wind like an angry cannon ball
Won t you hold still son, mill worker houses lined up in a row
another sacred sunday s coming down
Shakin hands with the man who grips the gospel gun, i can almost hear the old folks say, oh lord forgive us when we doubt,
Softly in the distance nothing stirs about, you ll make it big one day Sunday, another southern sunday morning blow
Mill worker houses lined up in a row, and all the lights in the houses one by one go out, and all the lights in the houses one by one go out
And the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil, stop squirmn around, you ll make it big one day
And on the old town square under the barber shop pole, i can feel the evening sun go down, another sacred sunday in the south
beneath the steeple all the people have begun
another southern sunday morning blow
The smell of dinner on the ground, a ragged rebel flag flies high above it all, popping in the wind like an angry cannon ball
They sat me up in the chair when i was four years old, and on the old town square under the barber shop pole
beneath the steeple all the people have begun
Won t you hold still son, and on the old town square under the barber shop pole, and the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil
oh lord forgive us when we doubt,
And the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil, the holes of history are cold and still, and all the lights in the houses one by one go out
You ll make it big one day, on a sunday in the south
Oh lord forgive us when we doubt,, and the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil
On a sunday in the south, a ragged rebel flag flies high above it all
stop squirmn around
While the quiet prayer, i can feel the evening sun go down, another sacred sunday s coming down
Softly in the distance nothing stirs about, another southern sunday morning blow The, and on the old town square under the barber shop pole
The holes of history are cold and still, heals up the morning air, oh lord forgive us when we doubt,
some other lazy sunday you ll come back around
Softly in the distance nothing stirs about, i can almost hear my mama pray