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the big top We want y'all to sit back and enjoy And if y'all get offended We don't give a shit Where the hell my dirtbagz at? Put your hands up, God damn I
[E.D.I Amin] I speak For all my n****z livin` in the rush Slow it down just a notch baby It`s goin` be alright, it`s goin` be alright [2Pac +
up boy, I'll have your baby I got the pussy dizzy bitch But I ride my own dick Independent, fuck a major And I'm still rich bitch I moved to Georgia
Baby it's ya prerogative what you do I don't give a damn what he think about you All i know is one plus one is two We can lay back while we sip a few
Everybody knows the devil went down to Florida And everybody goes "Roll Tide" up in Georgia John Deere's are blue and the bluegrass ain't green
from Georgia A City Girl from Florida A baddie cross the border Its 1 me it's 1 me, it's like 4 of em' I'm tryna catch it You fly as hell let's fly
from NO, right? Mhm, mhm Right, right, and I'm from Florida Tallahassee? Right, so I got a couple things to, like, teach you Okay That you probably
What you think my gun bust ice one Down in Georgia Six hours from Florida Niggas get slaughtered Boy where I'm from Problems gon' get solved By
Florida thang Got me hangin' out the window just yellin' your name, yuh When I see you I'ma ride right by But when I need you I'ma bang your line 'cause
Florida water, swimming, Now I'm really floating Yeah, I'm really going, now I'm colder Than they shoulder I'm smoking Baby Yoda, you can tell it By
a Tesla Oooooooooohhhhh Damn She got a peach like Georgia's but it's big like Texas Make it bounce like New Orleans Biggety bounce bounce Cant let it pass
and the pain Yeah baby don't be shy You can always hit line I know your body way better than all these other guys Sheesh She got that Georgia peach I'm tryna
Aight. Huh. See? To craft a masterpiece I'd sacrifice sleep Now, that's what an artist would do Especially when pussy's on my mind like Georgia
Sittin' in the bayou country, Just me and my fishin' line I raised a lot of hell and I hollered, Sippin' on that Georgia moonshine Well, I know
Aw, yeah Aw, yeah Who's that girl Some say the blacker the berry The sweeter the juice You know baby girl damn sure proved it true She was
probably would arrange to see her movin' cross the country Florida Georgia Line is country But a rhythm wouldn't speak another sequence So they stick
And you drove all the way from Georgia just to hear me play I saw ya standin' there by the record machine I know you ain't 45 but you sure ain't 17 Told me
yeah Hittin' my line yeah, hittin' my line yeah Hittin' my (Hit it) You all by yourself Call me, don't text me Try me don't taste me New car, G Class We,
blowin this bitch What you think my gun bust ice one Down in Georgia Six hours from Florida Niggas get slaughtered Boy where Im from Problems gon get
Mac-chickens he'll place you a order I'm tryna cop that new hell cat with spoiler Fuck on hoe and I met her Florida Imma real trapper from Hogansville, Georgia
baby, oh I won't turn around Oh I won't turn around If I'm not over you by Georgia, then I'll head to Alabama Roll on to Mississippi, or maybe
cross the blue grass, Cutting cross that mason Dixon line? Lord won?t you bring them down the road, to Georgia, from Ohio.. My two babies. I ain?t been
on by faking I do not like new faces We line em up and fade shit Obama he ain't change shit Bruh get up off that slave ship Fuck them reparations
the Space Coast, baby, where the rockets roar The best damn place on the Florida shore Every sonic boom fills me with delight Lovin' the joy of another flight
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