| What you got?
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| What’s up then?
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| Huh?
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| Oh yeah
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| What’s poppin'? |
| Let’s get this daggum beat drop
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| Off the top of the dome, let’s get this thing rockin'
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| It’s Apalachee Don rollin' in Da PigPen
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| Playin' in the mud race, smell what I’m sittin' in
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| Beat that, I’m a hillbilly trail blazer
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| Raise a little hell, hell, my daddy was a hell raiser
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| That son of a gun was a gun of a son
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| So I’m sure that makes me one, ya heard?
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| GA, Peach State, represent it y’all
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| We ain’t old fashion like the jackets and the bulldogs
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| Outlaw, plus I studied in the JuCo
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| Gangsters don’t live that long, that’s what I been told
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| I gets down in my town, call it monkey row
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| Quiet little spot, head off down a country road
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| And if you ever in my neck of the hood
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| You might find me in Georgia’s woods
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| Down here in Georgia, these roots grow way long
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| Out here in my zone, (Out here in Georgia) these roots is my home
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| These roots grow way long, (Out here in Georgia) these roots grow way long
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| Out here where I’m from, (Down in Georgia), I’m proud of my home |
| These roots grow way long
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| There’s no tellin' where you find me, been runnin' for a long time
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| On the loose, runnin' juice across county and state lines
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| Outlaw sippin' man, get it how I live
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| Copper stills in the foothills, and Daddy gave me all the skills
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| Propane, blue fame, sugar in the mash
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| Long wait, full tape, cut the heat, don’t scorch the stash
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| Swine shine, firewater octane
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| Burn so good, guaranteed your whole life change
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| I’ve always had it, no matter what the product be
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| Been pushin' weight since a youngin', now I’m an old G
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| City streets, trap houses full of dope fiends
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| Just trailer park single-wide seein' the same things
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| I needed change, I had to roll it up
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| Headed back to Mama house where I grew up
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| 'Cause I was raised in the south, cornbread fed
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| When I leave I’ma be dirty south dead
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| Down here in Georgia, these roots grow way long
|
| Out here in my zone, (Out here in Georgia) these roots is my home
|
| These roots grow way long, (Out here in Georgia) these roots grow way long
|
| Out here where I’m from, (Down in Georgia), I’m proud of my home |
| These roots grow way long
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| I came this way from the big, bright lights
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| A city boy lost, tryna get his mind right
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| Get his life right, put an end to the hurt
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| So I hit the interstate 'til it turned into dirt
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| Made it work when it was really broke
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| Like an old wagon wheel with a split spoke (Split spoke)
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| Kept it movin' on a mission like a soldier with his orders
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| California to the foothills of Georgia
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| Call it home now, deep in the pines
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| A southern state of mind, sittin' in the sunshine
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| I ain’t lyin', nothin' better than a fresh peach
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| When every one you pick is lookin' good enough to eat
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| Smell the hog feet, pickled with the pepper
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| Cornbread gettin' cooked any kinda weather
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| Swingin' through the pit, don’t get no better
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| Mud on the tires and some pine in the Swisher
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| Down here in Georgia, these roots grow way long
|
| Out here in my zone, (Out here in Georgia) these roots is my home
|
| These roots grow way long, (Out here in Georgia) these roots grow way long
|
| Out here where I’m from, (Down in Georgia), I’m proud of my home |
| These roots grow way long |