When the rains fall, man they fall hard.
Seems they might wash us away.
In Georgia, the earth feels so thin.
It feels like the trees may fall down.
But I hold on to you. I hold on to you.
Glory, make your own bed.
Let me lie down on my own.
And fire, burn down my back.
Take these possessions, too.
'Cause I hold on to you. I hold on to you.
And I'm sorry I'm not all those things.
But I'm doing the best that I can.
So don't let go of me. Don't let go of me.