Well here we come, baby, we're struttin' our stuff.
Well, we look kinda frisky, we're pretty damn bad
Cause Southern cookin' is all we ever had.
Oh, cook 'em up some greens, baby.
I've seen the mountains up in Tennessee
Sweet little hill woman satisfied me.
We know that it's tough and it's an uphill battle
But we're running 'em hard, baby, sitting in the saddle.
Oh, come on, baby
New York City, you're so big and tough,
My pistols are loaded, I feel rough.
Well, we heard of your punks and your high heel steppers
We're bad Southern boys and don't you forget us.
Lyrics submitted by Charlie the man
"Big Apple" as written by David Lawrence Hlubek Danny Joe Brown
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
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