It's a buggy,
Not a grocery cart.
It's your Mama,
Not your Mother.
It's sweet iced tea,
Not a can of Lipton peach.
It's fishing to fry it,
Not a retiree's retreat.
It's a part of who I am,
Not where I'm from.
It's a way of living,
Not a fad bound to fade.
I've been told many times,
You can hear it when I'm mad.
I know that it's faded,
But it reappears after my visits.
I am proud of the place I'm from;
I'm proud to be a Southern girl.
A 'Georgia Peach',
So to speak.
