molly hatchet
big apple
New York City, you're so big and tough, Well here we come, baby, we're struttin' our stuff. Well, we look kinda frisky, we're pretty damn bad Cause Southern cookin' is all we ever had. Oh, cook 'em up some greens, baby.  I've seen the mountains up in Tennessee Sweet little hill woman satisfied me. We know that it's tough and it's an uphill battle But we're running 'em hard, baby, sitting in the saddle. Oh, come on, baby  New York City, you're so big and tough, My pistols are loaded, I feel rough. Well, we heard of your punks and your high heel steppers We're bad Southern boys and don't you forget us.