She could say in her voice, in her way that she love me
With her eyes, with her smile, with her belt, with her hands, with her money
I am the thesis of her prayers
Her nieces and her nephews are just pieces of the layers
Only ones she love as much as me is Jesus Christ and Taylor
I got a future so I'm singing for my grandma
You singing too, but your grandma ain't my grandma
Mine's is hand made, pan fried, sun dried
South side, and beat the devil by a landslide
Praying with her hands tied, president of my fan club
Stand tall, something told me I should bring my butt to church