A Georgia back-road kid who got paid but kept the red clay on his boots: grandma's porch still beats any penthouse. Country-trap with banjo, 808s and a roots-over-riches hook. Lyrics [Intro] (Yeah) SKIBO YP Georgia, where the clay run red... [Chorus] Red clay riches, mud on my boots Diamonds in the sky, I don't need 'em, I got roots Old truck humming down a two-lane road Got a little money, but I never left home Red clay riches (yeah), red clay riches (yeah) Ain't no penthouse view like my grandma's kitchen [Verse 1] Born where the fireflies light up the creek Sweet tea sweating on the porch all week Granddaddy taught me how to fix a fence Taught me that a promise is the realest rent Now they want me out in the big city lights Velvet ropes and parties on a Tuesday night But I'd rather