Saturdays We Remember

southern ballad, country rock, Americana

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And oh, those Saturdays we remember,
Red leaves fallin’ in a Southern September.
From kickoff thrills to the chapel bell chimes,
We made a lifetime in four-quarter times.
Now he’s gone, but I still stand,
With my boy by my side and a Coca cola in hand.
New names, same dream, same red and black ember —
We carry on those Saturdays we remember.

We’d head downtown in our Dawg-red best,
Stop for a Coke and a minute’s rest.
He’d nod at the Arch with a knowing smile,
Said, “Not yet, son — you gotta walk that mile.”

He held me back from steppin’ through,
Said, “That’s for Bulldogs proven true.”
And I knew right then, in his steady way,
He was teachin’ me pride that don’t fade away.

And oh, those Saturdays we remember,
Red leaves fallin’ in a Southern September.
From kickoff thrills to the chapel bell chimes,
We made a lifetime in four-quarter times.
Now he’s gone, but I still stand,
With my boy by my side and a Coca-Cola in hand.
New names, same dream, same red and black ember —
We carry on those Saturdays we remember.

We never missed a season, never missed a game,
Through wins and losses, we loved just the same.
He taught me pride, he taught me grace,
And how a Bulldog walks through this world with faith.
That last fall came with an early frost,
We knew in our bones what we'd soon have lost.
But we made it to one more Georgia fight,
Held his hand ‘neath those Sanford lights.

And oh, those Saturdays we remember,
Tailgates burnin’ in late November.
He smiled that day like he knew the cost,
But he gave me the South — not a moment lost.
Now I walk these streets with my young man,
Teaching him tradition, the fight, the stand.
New faces, old souls, that same proud ember —
We live for those Saturdays we remember.

And when the Dawgs run out, I still hear his cheer,
Whispers of Munson still ringin’ clear.
It’s more than a game, it’s blood and bone —
A father, a son, a red and black home.

Yeah, these Saturdays we remember,
A father’s love in Dawg-worn leather.
From the glory days to the fights ahead,
It’s a story of hearts in red and black thread.
Now my boy cheers proud, just like I did then,
And I feel my father in the autumn wind.
We’re writing new pages in this forever —
In the book of those Saturdays… we remember.

Yeah, we remember...
Every fall, every call, every Dawg of them all.
We remember.

2687/7500

I was just a boy with my hand in his grip, Cracklin’ radio and a Coca-Cola sip. Larry Munson’s voice callin’ from the sky, As we walked past the hedges, hearts ridin’ high. Vince Dooley stalkin’ the sidelines proud, Herschel Walker runnin’ through that crowd. My old man cheered with a tear in his eye, Said, “Son, this is Georgia — this is how we fly.” And oh, those Saturdays we remember, Red leaves fallin’ in a Southern September. From kickoff thrills to the chapel bell chimes, We made a lifetime in four-quarter times. Now he’s gone, but I still stand, With my boy by my side and a Coca cola in hand. New names, same dream, same red and black ember — We carry on those Saturdays we remember. We’d head downtown in our Dawg-red best, Stop for a Coke and a minute’s rest. He’d nod at the Arch with a knowing smile, Said, “Not yet, son — you gotta walk that mile.” He held me back from steppin’ through, Said, “That’s for Bulldogs proven true.” And I knew right then, in his steady way, He was teachin’ me pride that don’t fade away. And oh, those Saturdays we remember, Red leaves fallin’ in a Southern September. From kickoff thrills to the chapel bell chimes, We made a lifetime in four-quarter times. Now he’s gone, but I still stand, With my boy by my side and a Coca-Cola in hand. New names, same dream, same red and black ember — We carry on those Saturdays we remember. We never missed a season, never missed a game, Through wins and losses, we loved just the same. He taught me pride, he taught me grace, And how a Bulldog walks through this world with faith. That last fall came with an early frost, We knew in our bones what we'd soon have lost. But we made it to one more Georgia fight, Held his hand ‘neath those Sanford lights. And oh, those Saturdays we remember, Tailgates burnin’ in late November. He smiled that day like he knew the cost, But he gave me the South — not a moment lost. Now I walk these streets with my young man, Teaching him tradition, the fight, the stand. New faces, old souls, that same proud ember — We live for those Saturdays we remember. And when the Dawgs run out, I still hear his cheer, Whispers of Munson still ringin’ clear. It’s more than a game, it’s blood and bone — A father, a son, a red and black home. Yeah, these Saturdays we remember, A father’s love in Dawg-worn leather. From the glory days to the fights ahead, It’s a story of hearts in red and black thread. Now my boy cheers proud, just like I did then, And I feel my father in the autumn wind. We’re writing new pages in this forever — In the book of those Saturdays… we remember. Yeah, we remember... Every fall, every call, every Dawg of them all. We remember.

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