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Big apple

by Molly Hatchet

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New York City, you´re so big and tough,
Well here we come, baby, struttin´ our stuff.
Well we look kinda freaky we´re pretty damn bad.
Cause Southern cookin´ is all we´ve ever had.
Oh, cook ´em up some greens, baby.

I´ve seen the mountains up in Tennessee.
A sweet little hill women satisfied me.
We all know it´s tough and it´s an uphill battle.
But we´re running ´em hard baby, sitting in the saddle.

Yeah.
Oh come on,
Again.

New York City you´re so big and tough.
My pistols are loaded, I feel rough.
Well, we´ve heard of your punks and high heeled steppers.
We´re bad southern boys and don´t you forget us.
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