Georgia Peach

I met her on a Sunday, where the red clay meets the sky

Her laugh was like a fiddle tune, her smile a firefly

She said, "Boy, you talk too sweet, you better watch your pace"

But her eyes were dripping honey, couldn't look away from her face

She tastes like Georgia Peach, with a bite of regret

The kind of flavor that you never forget

She's a hymn for the broken, a hymn for the free

Yeah, she tastes like Georgia Peach, and she's trouble for me

She moves just like the summer, slow and hot and mean

With a voice like iced tea melting in the southern heat