The red Georgia clay when mixed with the rain
Sure made for one nasty mess
Ah, but we were ridin' high in that old truck of mine
In deep as we could get
Always looking for a rut, tryin' not to get stuck
And slinging that mud everywhere, growin' up down there
Me and my friends where the deep river bends
Had a long rope tied to a tree
Takin' turns on the swing, takin' turns takin' drinks
And I don't mean iced tea
A good buzz later playing chicken with the gators
Way too young to be scared, growin' up down there
And those tan little peaches turnin' us on
where
turns
those
summer
stuck
still
swing
spread
somewhere
slinging
swear
river
there
radio
playing
mixed
field
later
everywhere
young
times
drinks
second
friends
little
could
things
bends
nasty
truck
never
bonfire
chicken
georgia
going
lasted
scared
gators
looking
lucky
always
night
through
peaches
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