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Now bein' from the south, |
|
I never had a doubt, |
|
what kind of girl I'd want. |
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I'd pick a Georgia peach, |
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or a Mississippi queen, |
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or a Dallas Debutante. |
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But a met a little blonde from above and beyond |
|
the Mason-Dixon line, |
|
now she ain't a dixie dumplin', but let me tell you something |
|
lord she more than qualifies. |
|
Chorus |
|
She like Elvis, she likes Andy |
|
She's just as pretty as can be |
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She's the number one fan |
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both Graceland and Mayberry RFD |
|
She ain't a Southern bele, but its hard to tell, |
|
She's got every quality. |
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She likes Elvis, she like Andy, |
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so shes fine and dandy with me |
|
(Mucial interlude) |
|
I took her home for Christmas |
|
to try some Soutehrn dishes |
|
my mommas famous for. |
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but momma through a fit |
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'cause she wouldn't eat her grits |
|
it was lookin' like the civil war |
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I was hopin' like the Devil |
|
that they'd meet up in the middle |
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but neither one would budge |
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then I heard 'em in the kitchen, |
|
laughin' and a gigglin' |
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singin' hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin' love |
|
(Chorus) |
|
(Musical Interlude) |
|
(chorus) |
|
No she ain't a Southern Belle, but its hard to tell |
|
She has every quality |
|
She like Elvis, she like Andy |
|
so she's fine and dandy with me |
|
She like Elvis, she like Andy |
|
so she's fine and dandy with me |
