Peachtree Overture

Yeah, yeah {smooth electric piano chord swells,

soft trap hi-hats, distant

trumpet flourish} Late night on Peachtree Street

Warm rain beneath our feet

From the West End to the east This is where the rhythms

meet (yeah, yeah)

{soaring brass fanfare, heavy 808 glide}

Red clay on the interstate

We make the music that they try to recreate Sitting on a

porch in the summer heat

Listening to the pulse of the city beat

(listen close)

{half-time rimshot groove, mellow Rhodes

chords}

Yeah,

where the red clay lies...

(mmm-hmm) {trumpet

solo

fading

out

over sparse electric piano chords}