We don’t flinch when that whistle blows, Ain’t scared of bugs in yellow clothes, Every year, same sad song — They talk big, but they ain’t strong. They come to Athens, leave in pain, Sanford’s where we bring the rain, And when we head to Bobby Dodd? We paint that town with red and bring the rod. 'Cause we run this state — from the northern hills to Tybee light, Got ‘em shakin’ in the flats when we come to fight. Ain’t no stinger gonna stop this bite, We’ve owned them jackets every Saturday night. From the 404 to the 706 gate, Say it loud, y’all — WE RUN THIS STATE! They crunch numbers, we crush dreams, They code apps — we build teams. Every fall, they pray and sweat, But there's only one King in this ol’ duet. They wear gold, but we wear crowns, Our rings shine bright, our flags don’t frown. They brag on labs, we count our wins — You ain’t got trophies like these Dawgskins! 'Cause we run this state — from Savannah to the Chattahoochee, No Ramblin’ Wreck outruns this poochie. They chirp real cute till the Dawgs take flight, Then it’s “To hell with Tech” every Saturday night! Yeah, we ain’t just first — we dominate, You better believe it — WE RUN THIS STATE! They call it "Clean Old-Fashioned Hate" — But it ain't been close since ol' ‘08. We own the wins, the roar, the gate — Tech just watches while we elevate. Yeah, we run this state — from them farms to them city lights, We raise hell in them redzone fights! No calculators, no fake debate — Y’all know who dominates the Peach State! So throw your G up, and seal their fate — One more time, now — WE RUN THIS STATE! To hell with Tech! To hell with Tech! The Dawgs run Georgia — and don't you forget!
