| There’s a town in South Georgia where the water is clean
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| Loblollies grow tall, the critters ain’t mean
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| People who live there are the kind you can trust
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| They all grew up riding the county school bus
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| There’s a town in south Georgia so humble and small
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| If you sneeze driving through, you won’t see it at all
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| Every Sunday at supper they’re bowing their heads
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| Thankful for snap peas and chili cornbread
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| Take me South of Atlanta down I-85
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| East of Alabama, where Old Glory still flies
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| You can smell honeysuckle, put your nose in the air
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| Take me South of Atlanta, don’t stop till we’re there
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| Old Joe’s at the Chevron, take that to the bank
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| He’ll wipe off your windows, he’ll fill up your tank
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| There’s a good game of checkers that’s happening somewhere
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| You ain’t had barbecue ‘til you had it down there
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| Take me south of Atlanta down I-85
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| East of Alabama, where Old Glory still flies
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| You can smell honeysuckle, put your nose in the air
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| Take me south of Atlanta, don’t stop till we’re there
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| There’s a town in South Georgia where the fishing’s still good
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| And if you want to fight, you gotta spit your own wood
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| People wave without taking their hand off the wheel
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| They’re keeping it simple, they’re keeping it real
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| If they give you their word, you can put it in stone
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| If the whole world goes crazy, there’s one place that won’t
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| And lord when I die, let’s make a deal
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| Lay me down in that town, where time stands still
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| Take me south of Atlanta down I-85
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| East of Alabama, where Old Glory still flies
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| You can smell honeysuckle, put your nose in the air
|
| Take me south of Atlanta, don’t stop till we’re there
|
| Take me south of Atlanta down I-85
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| East of Alabama, where Old Dixie still flies
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| You can smell honeysuckle, put your nose in the air
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| Take me south of Atlanta, don’t stop till we’re there |