Two thousand miles east of L.A.,

A thousand south of N.Y.C,

It's where I was born, God willing, where I'll die,

And that's just fine by me.

While the mooks in the suits are on the faxes and phones,

And boys in bands are all doing their hair,

We're going to tote it down to Opelika,

Hope you like it down there.

We're going to tote it down to Opelika,

Hope you like it down there.

So, your girl got married and got lame,

And your boy got buried in the couch,

And you don't know, baby, which way to turn

Ever since the fire burned out.

Well, while your folks are at home in the living room, watching

Folks living life, live on the air.

We're going to burn it down in Opelika,

Hope you like it down there.

We're going to raise the dead up from Opelika,

Hope you like it down there.

Would you drag me off the floor, and into service Sunday morning,

If I took you to church Saturday night?

We're going to burn it down in Opelika;

Hope you like it alright.

Hope's alive in Opelika, and their eyes are burning bright.