Georgia

I met her down in New Orleans

she was hanging out a bit

having a drink or two

she bought a round, she sat on down

and lit a cigarette and said:

“boy have you got a night ahead of you”

well maybe I was taken

by the fancy way she walks

maybe it was the perfume in her hair

or maybe I just fell for her and the

southern way she talks:

talk like she didn’t have no cares

she said: “call me Georgia, call me a bad, bad girl”

“call me anything in the whole wide world”

“but don’t you call me ‘baby’, cause I ain’t your girl”

“just call me Georgia and honey I’ll rock yer world”

she had a tattooed rose, she ain’t afraid to show

yeah she drinks, she spits, she curses

drives the wrong way down the one way streets

she keeps a whiskey bottle by her bed

and a pistol in her purse, and she

can drive a strong man down to his beggin knees

she said: “call me Georgia, call me a bad, bad girl”

“call me anything in the whole wide world”

“but don’t you call me ‘baby’, cause I ain’t your girl”

“just call me Georgia and honey I’ll rock yer world”

I see her around sometimes, she’s

a hanging out a bit

having a drink or two (or three, or four)

she starts that walkin’ that smooth southern drawl

and she hooks herself a more recent kind of fool