Hotlanta pit pull

The clouds changed direction because
In those hills. In those hills.
There is something

She could have been a bean. A bear. Or on the silver screen
But she was born a Georgia peach
So she’s been hanging from a tree

Off snapfinger road
Snapfinger road
In Social Circle Ga
Past the mill lies a rope
Lies a shoe in the hay

In Augusta the masters all feel good
On the coast Savannah hosts the moss
On I-20 east right deep in the wood
They’re smoking Bonnie May on a cross

She could have been put together
With some wings or fins to fly
But she was born of humid weather
Held down and born to die

The smoke changed direction because
In those hills. In those hills there is nothing.

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