Down in Georgia there's this covered bridge,
You go down in the valley and up over a ridge.
It crosses over the Hootch, a muddy old river,
Where bales of cotton they all used to deliver.
Where I grew up, long to be there once again,
A place I called my home, always had a friend.
Now I'm down the river, don't have any money,
When you talk at all, the looks are kind of funny.
Wish I was back home, was as happy as can be,
I wore my cut off pants, climbed an old oak tree.
Went fishing in the creek, swimming all day long,
Never got in trouble then, or did anything wrong.
I'm paying out my very last dime, riding on the bus,
Poppa told me yesterday, not to worry about a fuss.
Momma told me to come home, that I'm gonna do,
I miss my family quite a lot, makes me feel so blue.
When I do get on back home, first thing I should see,
My old covered bridge, then I'll be happy as I can be.
I'm planning my first fishing trip, then going for a swim,
At night by moon's light, count lucky stars, all of them.