
Verse 1 Back when boots still shined, and hearts ran wild, We were kings of the sticks, every southern mile. Georgia dust in the air, moonshine in our veins, Red clay rebels ridinâ freedomâs chain. Creepin' down them two-lane switchbacks tight, Headlights killin' shadows in the devilâs night. Smoke so thick, itâd make the legends choke, Had Cheech and Chong watchinâ from a heavenly cloak. Chorus Oh, we had less gray, harder steel in our hands, Raisinâ hell for the outlaws, scarinâ angelsâ plans. Sippinâ bootleg beer, smokinâ Southern haze, Back when the dirty south was set ablaze. Graveside spirits, girls grindinâ real slow, Shotguns locked, in case a doe wanna show. Guns & Roses singinâ "Paradiseâs" song, We were outlaws thenâainât a damn thing wrong. Verse 2 Dirty little redneck queens, barefoot pride, Denim skirts swinginâ on a midnight ride. Tombstones shaking from the boom of the bass, Truck bed rebels carving sin into space. It was whiskey-fueled love, raw, unapologetic, Southern heat sensual, untamed kinetic. A graveyard party where ghosts didnât scare, Even they tipped their hats to how wild we dared. Chorus Oh, we had less gray, harder steel in our hands, Raisinâ hell for the outlaws, scarinâ angelsâ plans. Sippinâ bootleg beer, smokinâ Southern haze, Back when the dirty south was set ablaze. Graveside spirits, girls grindinâ real slow, Shotguns locked, in case a doe wanna show. Guns & Roses singinâ "Paradiseâs" song, We were outlaws thenâainât a damn thing wrong. Bridge Now the road donât hit quite like it used to, Gray in the beard, but these memories cut through. Still hear that graveyard hum in my ear, Whispers of youth, shots of cheap beer. The girls are all mothers, the graves got more names, But the fire within me? It burns just the same. Outlaw for life, dirt-road to the grave, A rebelâs heart is the only thing Iâll save. Outro So hereâs to the nights barely remembered, When flannel shirts burned hot like embers. Raise a glass to the mud, the girls, the sound, Back in the day when we owned this ground. Guns in the truck bed, smoke in our eyes, Southern sins rising in the midnight skies. Back when Georgia dirt roads held our throne, We were outlaws, man... and we called it home.
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