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Introduction

Have you ever heard a song that just makes you laugh out loud every time it comes on? That’s “The Mississippi Squirrel Revival” for you. It’s one of those tunes that doesn’t just get stuck in your head—it plays out like a mini-comedy show right in your ears. Imagine a mischievous squirrel wreaking havoc in a sleepy Southern town’s church, and you’ve got the gist of this hilariously heartwarming song.

The genius of “The Mississippi Squirrel Revival” lies in its storytelling. The song spins a yarn about a young boy who, quite innocently, brings a wild squirrel to church. This isn’t just any church session, though—it turns into utter chaos when the squirrel escapes and starts darting from pew to pew. What unfolds is a series of confessions and revelations, as the congregation starts admitting to their sins in the midst of the pandemonium, hoping for divine forgiveness as the squirrel scurries around.

What makes this song truly special is the way it captures a slice of Southern life with humor and a bit of cheekiness. The imagery is so vivid that you can almost see the old ladies fainting and the men shouting, turning a regular Sunday into a spectacle of revelations and laughter. It’s not just a song; it’s a community experience packed into a few minutes of uproarious melody.

“The Mississippi Squirrel Revival” isn’t just funny; it’s a reminder of the unpredictable moments that bring communities together, showing us that sometimes, it takes a little chaos to see the humor in our human follies. The song has a timeless appeal, resonating with anyone who appreciates a good story and a good laugh, making it a cherished piece in the annals of country music.

Video

Lyrics

Ooh, ooh
Well, when I was kid, I’d take a trip
Every summer, down to Mississipp’
To visit my granny in her Antebellum world
I’d run barefooted all day long
Climbing trees, free as a song
One day, I happened to catch myself a squirrel
Well, I stuffed him down in an old shoebox
And punched a couple holes in the top
When Sunday came, I snuck him into church
Well, I sit way back in the very last pew
Showin’ him to my good buddy Hugh
When that squirrel got loose and went totally berserk!
Well, what happened next is hard to tell
Some thought it was Heaven, others thought it was Hell
But the fact that something was among us was plain to see
As the choir sang “I surrender all”
The squirrel ran up Harv Newlan’s coveralls
Harv leaped to his feet and said
“Something’s got a hold on me! Yeah!”
The day the squirrel went berserk
In the First Self-Righteous Church
In that sleepy little town of Pascagoula (Pascagoula)
It was a fight for survival that broke out in revival
They were jumpin’ pews and shouting “Hallelujah!” (Hallelujah!)
You know Harv hit the aisles dancin’ and screamin’
Some thought he had religion, others thought he had a demon
And Harv thought he had a Weed Eater loose in his Fruit-of-the-Looms
He fell to his knees to plead and beg
And that squirrel ran out of his britches leg
Unobserved, to the other side of the room
All the way down to the amen pew
Where sat Sister Bertha better-than-you
Who’d been watchin’ all the commotion with sadistic glee
You should’ve seen that look in her eyes
When that squirrel jumped her garters and crossed her thighs
She jumped to her feet and said, “Lord! Have mercy on me!”
As that squirrel made laps inside her dress
She began to cry and then to confess
To sins that would make a sailor blush with shame
She told the gossip and church dissension
But the thing that got the most attention
Was when she talked about her love life
And then she started naming names
The day the squirrel went berserk
In the First Self-Righteous Church
In that sleepy little town of Pascagoula (Pascagoula)
It was a fight for survival that broke out in revival
They were jumpin’ pews and shouting “Hallelujah!” (Hallelujah!)
Well, seven deacons and then the pastor got saved
And 25, 000 dollars was raised
And 50 volunteered for missions in the Congo on the spot
And even without an invitation
There were at least 500 rededications
And we all got re-baptized whether we needed it or not
Now you’ve heard the Bible story, I guess
How He parted the waters for Moses to pass
All the miracles God has brought to this ol’ world
But the one I’ll remember ’til my dyin’ day
Is how He put that church back on the narrow way
With the heart praise and a Mississippi squirrel
The day the squirrel went berserk
In the First Self-Righteous Church
In that sleepy little town of Pascagoula (Pascagoula)
It was a fight for survival that broke out in revival
They were jumpin’ pews and shouting “Hallelujah!” (Hallelujah!)
The day the squirrel went berserk
In the First Self-Righteous Church
In that sleepy little town of Pascagoula (Pascagoula)
It was a fight for survival that broke out in revival
They were jumpin’ pews and shouting “Hallelujah!” (Hallelujah!)

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KIX BROOKS RECORDED “SACRED GROUND” FOR HIS OWN SOLO ALBUM IN 1989. THE RECORD DEAL WENT NOWHERE. THREE YEARS LATER, ANOTHER BAND RECORDED HIS SONG — AND TOOK IT TO NO. 2. Before Ronnie Dunn, Kix Brooks had already spent years trying to make Nashville work. He moved there in 1979 and discovered fairly quickly that his songs were getting farther than his voice. John Conlee took Brooks’ “I’m Only in It for the Love” to No. 1 in 1983. Two years later, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band did the same with “Modern Day Romance.” Brooks still wanted his own recording career. An early deal with Avion Records collapsed when the label went bankrupt. Then Capitol Nashville gave him another chance. In 1989, he released the self-titled album Kix Brooks. One of its singles was “Sacred Ground,” written by Brooks with Vernon Rust. It didn’t break him. Brooks later remembered hearing from radio stations that Capitol wasn’t really working the record. He went directly to label executive Jim Foglesong’s successor, Jimmy Bowen? Actually Brooks identifies label head Jim Ed Norman? No—his own recollection names Mr. Crutchfield, and says the executive admitted he simply didn’t understand what Brooks was doing. Brooks’ response was unusual for someone still chasing his first major solo success. He essentially said: then let’s shake hands and part ways. His reasoning was practical. He was a songwriter. He didn’t want good songs climbing only into the lower reaches of the chart and dying because the label wasn’t committed to them. Not long afterward, Tim DuBois heard Brooks’ work and introduced him to Ronnie Dunn. Brooks & Dunn formed in 1990. Their first four singles became No. 1 country hits, and the solo career Brooks had spent years trying to establish was suddenly irrelevant. But “Sacred Ground” wasn’t finished. MCA’s McBride & the Ride recorded it for their second album in 1992, with Tony Brown and Steve Gibson producing. This time radio responded. Their recording climbed to No. 2 on Billboard’s country chart, becoming McBride & the Ride’s highest-charting Billboard single. The album Sacred Ground went gold and produced two additional Top 5 singles. The timing created a strange Nashville reversal. While Kix Brooks was becoming one half of the hottest new duo in country music, another band was simultaneously having its biggest hit with a song left behind by the solo career that hadn’t worked. Years later, Brooks could look back at that Capitol album differently. The artist on its cover never became the star he’d intended. But one of its songs did eventually find the audience it had missed the first time.

MARTY STUART WAS 13 WHEN HE GOT OFF A GREYHOUND BUS IN NASHVILLE. THE NEXT DAY HE CLIMBED ON LESTER FLATT’S TOUR BUS. BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND, HE HAD A JOB PLAYING WITH A COUNTRY MUSIC LEGEND. On August 3, 1972, Marty Stuart stepped off a bus in downtown Nashville from Mississippi. He was thirteen years old. Stuart had already learned guitar and mandolin and played with the Sullivan Family, but Nashville was still something he knew mostly from records and Grand Ole Opry broadcasts. Early that morning, he walked to the Ryman Auditorium before the city had fully come alive. Bluegrass musician Roland White soon picked him up in a 1965 Chevrolet Impala. The next day, White took Stuart to Lester Flatt’s tour bus in Hendersonville. They headed to a bluegrass festival in Delaware, where the teenager was given a chance to play with Flatt’s band. Flatt heard enough. By the end of the weekend, he wanted Stuart in the Nashville Grass permanently. After arrangements were made with his parents, Stuart joined the road at an age when most musicians were still learning songs in bedrooms and school gyms. A week later, he made his first appearance on the Grand Ole Opry. Stuart stayed with Flatt through most of the 1970s. The education happened night after night: long bus rides, festival stages, dressing rooms, radio appearances and hours beside musicians who had helped build bluegrass and country before he was born. When Flatt’s health declined and the band ended, Stuart moved on. He worked with Doc Watson and other musicians, then joined Johnny Cash’s band in 1980. Only later did he build a solo career of his own. “Crying, Waiting, Hoping,” “Hillbilly Rock,” “Tempted,” and his recordings with Travis Tritt helped turn Stuart from respected sideman into a country star. In 1992, he became a member of the Grand Ole Opry. In 2020, he was elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame. But those early years with Flatt left another mark. Stuart began saving the instruments, photographs, stage clothes and personal objects that passed through the country world around him. What started as a young musician holding onto pieces of his heroes eventually grew into one of the most important private collections of country-music history. The road job Lester Flatt gave him taught Stuart how to play the music. It also taught him how quickly the people and objects that made it could disappear.

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KIX BROOKS RECORDED “SACRED GROUND” FOR HIS OWN SOLO ALBUM IN 1989. THE RECORD DEAL WENT NOWHERE. THREE YEARS LATER, ANOTHER BAND RECORDED HIS SONG — AND TOOK IT TO NO. 2. Before Ronnie Dunn, Kix Brooks had already spent years trying to make Nashville work. He moved there in 1979 and discovered fairly quickly that his songs were getting farther than his voice. John Conlee took Brooks’ “I’m Only in It for the Love” to No. 1 in 1983. Two years later, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band did the same with “Modern Day Romance.” Brooks still wanted his own recording career. An early deal with Avion Records collapsed when the label went bankrupt. Then Capitol Nashville gave him another chance. In 1989, he released the self-titled album Kix Brooks. One of its singles was “Sacred Ground,” written by Brooks with Vernon Rust. It didn’t break him. Brooks later remembered hearing from radio stations that Capitol wasn’t really working the record. He went directly to label executive Jim Foglesong’s successor, Jimmy Bowen? Actually Brooks identifies label head Jim Ed Norman? No—his own recollection names Mr. Crutchfield, and says the executive admitted he simply didn’t understand what Brooks was doing. Brooks’ response was unusual for someone still chasing his first major solo success. He essentially said: then let’s shake hands and part ways. His reasoning was practical. He was a songwriter. He didn’t want good songs climbing only into the lower reaches of the chart and dying because the label wasn’t committed to them. Not long afterward, Tim DuBois heard Brooks’ work and introduced him to Ronnie Dunn. Brooks & Dunn formed in 1990. Their first four singles became No. 1 country hits, and the solo career Brooks had spent years trying to establish was suddenly irrelevant. But “Sacred Ground” wasn’t finished. MCA’s McBride & the Ride recorded it for their second album in 1992, with Tony Brown and Steve Gibson producing. This time radio responded. Their recording climbed to No. 2 on Billboard’s country chart, becoming McBride & the Ride’s highest-charting Billboard single. The album Sacred Ground went gold and produced two additional Top 5 singles. The timing created a strange Nashville reversal. While Kix Brooks was becoming one half of the hottest new duo in country music, another band was simultaneously having its biggest hit with a song left behind by the solo career that hadn’t worked. Years later, Brooks could look back at that Capitol album differently. The artist on its cover never became the star he’d intended. But one of its songs did eventually find the audience it had missed the first time.

MARTY STUART WAS 13 WHEN HE GOT OFF A GREYHOUND BUS IN NASHVILLE. THE NEXT DAY HE CLIMBED ON LESTER FLATT’S TOUR BUS. BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND, HE HAD A JOB PLAYING WITH A COUNTRY MUSIC LEGEND. On August 3, 1972, Marty Stuart stepped off a bus in downtown Nashville from Mississippi. He was thirteen years old. Stuart had already learned guitar and mandolin and played with the Sullivan Family, but Nashville was still something he knew mostly from records and Grand Ole Opry broadcasts. Early that morning, he walked to the Ryman Auditorium before the city had fully come alive. Bluegrass musician Roland White soon picked him up in a 1965 Chevrolet Impala. The next day, White took Stuart to Lester Flatt’s tour bus in Hendersonville. They headed to a bluegrass festival in Delaware, where the teenager was given a chance to play with Flatt’s band. Flatt heard enough. By the end of the weekend, he wanted Stuart in the Nashville Grass permanently. After arrangements were made with his parents, Stuart joined the road at an age when most musicians were still learning songs in bedrooms and school gyms. A week later, he made his first appearance on the Grand Ole Opry. Stuart stayed with Flatt through most of the 1970s. The education happened night after night: long bus rides, festival stages, dressing rooms, radio appearances and hours beside musicians who had helped build bluegrass and country before he was born. When Flatt’s health declined and the band ended, Stuart moved on. He worked with Doc Watson and other musicians, then joined Johnny Cash’s band in 1980. Only later did he build a solo career of his own. “Crying, Waiting, Hoping,” “Hillbilly Rock,” “Tempted,” and his recordings with Travis Tritt helped turn Stuart from respected sideman into a country star. In 1992, he became a member of the Grand Ole Opry. In 2020, he was elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame. But those early years with Flatt left another mark. Stuart began saving the instruments, photographs, stage clothes and personal objects that passed through the country world around him. What started as a young musician holding onto pieces of his heroes eventually grew into one of the most important private collections of country-music history. The road job Lester Flatt gave him taught Stuart how to play the music. It also taught him how quickly the people and objects that made it could disappear.

JOE DIFFIE HAD BEEN OFF THE CENTER OF COUNTRY RADIO FOR YEARS. THEN JASON ALDEAN RELEASED A SONG THAT HAD AN ENTIRE NEW GENERATION CHANTING HIS NAME. In 1994, Joe Diffie was near the height of his career. “Third Rock from the Sun” reached No. 1. Then “Pickup Man” followed and stayed there four weeks. Jason Aldean was still a high-school junior in Georgia, listening to Diffie and playing songs from that era before his own career existed. Aldean later remembered attending a Macon festival where roughly 5,000 people gathered for Diffie while only a few hundred watched a young Kenny Chesney on another stage. Almost two decades passed. By 2012, Aldean had become one of country music’s biggest stars. Songwriters Thomas Rhett, Luke Laird and Barry Dean were working on another song when the session changed direction. They built a track around 1990s nostalgia, filling it with references to Diffie records including “Pickup Man,” “John Deere Green,” “Third Rock from the Sun” and “Honky Tonk Attitude.” They called it “1994.” Aldean heard the demo while songs were being pitched for him and asked to hear it again. Soon afterward, he recorded it for Night Train. It became the album’s third single in March 2013. Diffie had nothing to do with making the record. Then he heard what they had done. His name had become the chant at the center of the song. Diffie said he was initially stunned, then realized what it meant: thousands of younger Aldean fans would suddenly be shouting the name of a singer whose biggest records had been released when many of them were children—or not yet born. The effect followed him off the radio. Diffie later said younger people began showing up at his concerts wanting to find out who the man from “1994” actually was. What surprised him even more was that many had gone backward into his catalog and learned the older songs. He called the attention a “shot in the arm.” Aldean had grown up playing Joe Diffie songs in Georgia clubs. Years later, some of Aldean’s own fans discovered those same records by moving in the opposite direction—starting with Jason Aldean and working their way back to Joe.