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Yeah, yeah
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)
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)
Yeah,
where the red clay lies... (mmm-hmm)