| Lord I swear, the perfume you wear
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| Is made out of turnip greens
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| And every time that I kiss you girl
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| It tastes like pork and beans
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| Even though youre wearin them
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| Citified high heels
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| I can tell by your giant steps
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| That youve been walkin through cotton fields
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| Ohhhhhh, youre some down home girl
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| Your shoes are green, your dress is red
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| And your wiggy head is powder blue
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| But underneath all of that mess,
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| Well youre still the same old messy you
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| Youre sittin there in that fancy chair
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| Just drinkin champaigne like a movie star
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| When ya oughta be sittin on a sidewalk
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| Drinkin white lightnin
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| Out of a jelly jar
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| Oh, youre some down home girl
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| Dimples in your pretty cheeks
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| And dimples in your knees
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| You walk by and baby i
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| Can smell magnolia trees
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| You tell me youre from new york baby
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| But I know youre from way down south
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| I can hear a mississippi mama
|
| Evey time you open up your mouth
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| Oh, youre some down home girl
|
| Oh, youre some down home girl |