Georgia state

Railwatching, August evenings, jump in dirty lakes
A cannonball; I’m a lost boy.  All it takes
Are Georgia parks at night, I’m getting lost, you come to find
A James Brown record spinning in 3/4 time.

Call it a cliché, just never let your rationality get in your way.

Madhouse charcoal paintings and Carolina wind
And stripped bare you’ll sleep from the gallows again
Sunday bells and sympathy martyred to our house
And everybody’s got the taste I’ve got cotton in my mouth

Killing’s as old as the south.

Call it a cliché; it’s humidity or humility at stake.  

The reddest dirt and sugarcane in an anniversary cake
And when we killed our firstborn we called him a mistake
But all she wants I’m chivalry I’m gentleman south
Love is when you let her cut off your mouth.

I couldn’t leave fast enough to keep myself awake.

We’ve got these months to stare and wait
But with humidity and humility
I still hate Georgia state.