Lord I swear the perfume you wear. Is made out of turnip greens. And every time that I kiss you girl. It tastes like pork and beans. Even though you’re wearin‘ them. Citified high heels. I can tell by your giant steps. That you’ve been walkin’ through cotton fields. Ohhhhhh you’re some down home girl. Your shoes are green your dress is red. And your wiggy head is powder blue. But underneath all of that mess. Well you’re still the same old messy you. You’re sittin there in that fancy chair. Just drinkin’ champaigne like a movie star. When ya oughta be sittin’ on a sidewalk. Drinkin white lightnin’. Out of a jelly jar. Oh you’re some down home girl. Dimples in your pretty cheeks. And dimples in your knees. You walk by and baby I. Can smell magnolia trees. You tell me you’re from New York baby. But I know you’re from way down South. I can hear a Mississippi mama. Evey time you open up your mouth. Oh you’re some down home girl. Oh you’re some down home girl.