Sandy Springs: We're Our Own City, Dammit!

Lyrics

Just a line on a map.
Fulton County's ink, spilling over us.
They drew the lines, but they didn't draw us in.
Not really.
Remember the seventies?
Church basements, fluorescent hum.
Smell of stale coffee and fresh-printed flyers.
Eva Galambos, with her economist's steady hand,
Drawing a different kind of map.
She said, "Two goals. Better service. Lower tax."
Just an idea, planted like a seed in red clay.
We took it home. Put it in the window. Watched it grow.
And we hammered a sign in the yard.
White letters on blue, stark against the green grass.
Just a piece of corrugated plastic, saying everything.
Saying, "We're our own city, dammit."
Another year, another trip down to the Gold Dome.
Another "no".
But the sign stayed up.
The sun bleached the blue to a pale sky color.
The rain ran streaks down the letters.
Kids grew up, learned to ride their bikes past it.
Legislators came and went.
The world turned, presidents changed.
But the potholes on our streets, they were eternal.
And the answer from downtown was always the same.
A busy signal. A long, long wait.
And we hammered a sign in the yard.
Faded letters on blue, but the words were still clear.
Just a piece of corrugated plastic, saying everything.
Saying, "We're our own city, dammit."
Thirty years is a long time to keep a promise to yourself.
A long time to wait for a "yes".
But the sign stayed up.
Then the wind changed.
Two thousand and five.
A bill on the floor that didn't die.
June twenty-first. Holding our breath.
Watching the numbers flash up on the screen.
Eighty-four percent.
Eighty-four.
The sound in that room... it wasn't just a cheer.
It was a dam breaking.
December first.
The air so crisp it could crack.
We stood there, watching them unveil the seal.
Not Fulton's seal. Ours.
Took the old sign down that night.
The fight was over.
We're our own city.
We are.
Our own city.