Way down south round Macon Georgia, where the sweetest peaches grow.
I wondered there to take my chances, Twenty some odd years ago.
Ill not forget first time I saw her, A vivid picture in my dreams.
A southern bell in soft white cotton, clinging to her like a breeze.
Nothings sweet as Georgia peaches, when you pick them for yourself.
Wait too long therere out of season, Theyll be gone to someone else.
She ask me Boy where do you come from? Are you only passing through?
Id like to know what brings you down here, I made her smile when I said YOU.
A stolen moment too quickly faded, as she pulled away her hand.
She said Im sorry its been taken, promised to another man.
Sometimes in dreams that Macon highway, winding through the lonesome pines.
Takes me back to my favorite memory, Of the Georgia girl I left behind.