I met her down in New Orleans
she was hanging out a bit
having a drink or two
she bought a round, she sat on down
and lit a cigarette and said:
âboy have you got a night ahead of youâ
well maybe I was taken
by the fancy way she walks
maybe it was the perfume in her hair
or maybe I just fell for her and the
southern way she talks:
talk like she didnât have no cares
she said: âcall me Georgia, call me a bad, bad girlâ
âcall me anything in the whole wide worldâ
âbut donât you call me âbabyâ, cause I ainât your girlâ
âjust call me Georgia and honey Iâll rock yer worldâ
she had a tattooed rose, she ainât afraid to show
yeah she drinks, she spits, she curses
drives the wrong way down the one way streets
she keeps a whiskey bottle by her bed
and a pistol in her purse, and she
can drive a strong man down to his beggin knees
she said: âcall me Georgia, call me a bad, bad girlâ
âcall me anything in the whole wide worldâ
âbut donât you call me âbabyâ, cause I ainât your girlâ
âjust call me Georgia and honey Iâll rock yer worldâ
I see her around sometimes, sheâs
a hanging out a bit
having a drink or two (or three, or four)
she starts that walkinâ that smooth southern drawl
and she hooks herself a more recent kind of fool