Those summer memories blaze, like autumn ridges,
that knife into the Chattanooga sky.
As their embers chase me down along the valleys,
Georgia is not easy on my mind.
I'm always sure to reach my destination,
when the road I choose can never lead me home.
As the traffic on the highway holds me tightly,
Georgia is not easy on my mind.
I try to think of bluegrass in Kentucky,
churning April sunshine into spring.
As the white lines in my rearview arrow southward,
Georgia is not easy on my mind.
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