Big Apple

New York City, you’re so big and tough,
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.