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(soft hummmm)
Red clay on her boots from the county line
Watching the porch swing take its time
She knows the name of every dog on the block
And the slow rhythmic tick of the courthouse clock
She don't need no
grand avenue
Just the pine trees and the morning dew (ohhh-oh)
She's a small town southern girl
With a heart like a live oak tree
Finding grace in a quiet world
Just as happy as she can be
Sundays are for biscuits
and a little grace
Running wild through her favorite place
She keeps her secrets in a mason jar
Wishing on a dusty passing star
She's a small town southern girl
With a heart like a live oak tree
Finding grace in a quiet world
Just as happy as she can be
Just a southern girl... (mmmmm)