Down Home Girl by Nazareth
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
Oh, 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 the same old messy you
You're sittin' there in that fancy chair
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