People
talk about what is and what ain't country. What gives them the right to wear a pair of
beater boots? Is it the size of your ties and your fires or your wild buddies? Well,
give me a minute, let me hit you with some hometown truth. You could be a cowboy on the
Texas plain or a plow boy waiting on the rain. We're all a little different, but we're all
the same. Everybody doing their own thing. I got my dirt road cred when I was 12 on a
no cab tractor hauling them bales. Backing in boats, fishing limp lines, running bird
dogs through the Georgia pines. Step side covered down in peanut dust, Friday night
spotlight, that was us. It might not have been you, but I can't judge. Just be proud
of what makes your country. Does it run in your blood? Did it come from your daddy and
mama? Were you converted by an Alabama song on the radio that feels so right? Did you
lock eyes with a little green eyed girl from Jackson? Tell me what got you. I just gotta
know. Me, I got my Sunday learning in a live oak church. Silver queen corn in the backyard
waiting for the fall to finally come along so I can *** my gun and get my outside on. Step
side covered down in peanut dust, Friday night spotlight, that was us. It might not have been
you, but I can't judge. Just be proud of what makes your country.
Might be from a city or a little farm town, whatever kind of square that you drove around.
Do you wear it on your sleeve or keep it deep down? You know you gotta let it out. I got my
dirt road cred back when I was 12 on a no cab tractor hauling them bales. Backing in boats,
fishing limp lines, running bird dogs through them Georgia pines. Step side covered down in
peanut dust, Friday night spotlight, that was us. It might not have been you,
but I ain't judging. Just be proud of what makes your country.
Whatever makes your country.
You do your kind of country. They're doing their kind of country. I do my kind of country.
Whatever makes this country.
you