It’s summertime in Georgia,
It’s ninety-eight degrees;
Humidity’s a thousand
With nothing like a breeze
The heat oppresses every one
From rich to simple folk;
We are not getting suntans for
The risk we’ll get heat stroke
I’d like the autumn to come soon,
If I could, I would rush it:
The asphalt down here is so hot
The sun won’t even touch it
So come to Georgia if you want
To feel the wrath of Summer;
Most likely, when you go back home
It won’t be such
A bummer
