ATF: Southern Sundays

This series will include as many of my all-time favorite (ATF) tunes as I can get my grubby little hands on (so to speak).  Now, each one included in each edition will have some connection with the other—albeit only as a figment of my imagination, but they will not be numbered.  For I just cannot bring myself to rate some higher than others.  So, this will not be a countdown, but if you are enjoying them as much as I do, it won’t matter.  Besides, with no countdown, this could go on forever and ever!  Oh, and despite the fact that there is absolutely no way your musical tastes could be as exquisite as mine, I welcome any suggestions you might dare to make.  For I am, after all, quite magnanimous by nature.

Link: [Shenandoah]

Sunday in the South

Shenandoah

Millworker houses lined up in a row

Another southern Sunday's mornin’ glow

Beneath the steeple all the people had 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 pray

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 coals 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 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 squirmin’ 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 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 whipporwill

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 miss them old sweet Sundays

In the south

Another sacred Sunday

I can hear my mama callin’

In the south

Alright

Link: [Johnny Cash]

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Johnny Cash

Well I woke up Sunday mornin’

With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad

So I had one more for dessert

Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt

Then I washed my face and combed my hair

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my mind the night before

With cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin’

But I lit my first and watched a small kid

Playin’ with a can that he was kickin’

Then I walked across the street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken

And Lord it took me back to somethin’ that I'd lost

Somewhere somehow along the way

On a Sunday mornin’ sidewalk

I'm wishin’ Lord that I was stoned

'Cause there's somethin’ in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothin’ short of dyin’

That's half as lonesome as the sound

Of the sleepin’ city sidewalk

And Sunday mornin’ comin’ down

In the park I saw a daddy

With a laughin’ little girl that he was swingin’

And I stopped beside a Sunday school

And listened to the songs they were singin’

Then I headed down the street

And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin’

And it echoed through the canyon

Like the disappearin’ dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday mornin’ sidewalk

I'm wishin’ Lord that I was stoned

'Cause there's somethin’ in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothin’ short of dyin’

That's half as lonesome as the sound

Of the sleepin’ city sidewalk

And Sunday mornin’ comin’ down

Lyrics From: [LyricsMode]

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[Arlynda Lea]

[FishHawk Droppings]

[The Tribulation Times Herald-Exhorter]