South Georgia Memories

. We was born with red clay on our feet. Barefoot boys running

down a dusty street. Cane poles leaning by the old pine tree.

Fishing in the creek, just you and me. Sunburned shoulders grinning

wide. Mama's hollering, "Y'all come inside." But we'd stay till the daylight

fade, catching catfish in that river shade. We stomp, clap,

raise that cheer, South Georgia born and bred right here. From frog gigging

nights to that Sunday sing, we wouldn't change a single thing. Peach ice cream

on a Saturday spin. Fried chicken after church again. Yeah,