| I’m talkin' bout them shirt off their back-home boys and girls
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| All them blue collar rednecks around the world
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| With a dog in the cab cooler in the back
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| Got ice doin' work on a 12 pack
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| All them small town boys sittin' 35 high
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| And them blue jean babies that are down ride
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| That’s the way we was raised up round here
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| All my friends drink beer
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| On a Friday night
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| Stacking them cans, man, Georgia pine high
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| Raise hell with a dixie cup
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| If you tip it on back, turn it on up
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| You can bet your ass, you’re gonna fit right in round here
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| Cause all my boys drink beer
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| Goes down pretty good with a country song
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| Goes down a little better when you’re singing along
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| So can I get a hey y’all, hell yea, cheers!
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| All my friends drink beer
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| On a Friday night
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| Stacking them cans, man, Georgia pine high
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| Raise hell with a dixie cup
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| If you tip it on back, turn it on up
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| You can bet your ass, you’re gonna fit right in round here
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| Cause all my friends drink beer
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| Now I don’t just hang out with anybody
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| And I’m not sayin', you gotta be somebody
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| I’m just sayin', you gotta be able to hold on
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| To a cold one every now and again
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| Cause all my friends drink beer
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| On a Friday night
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| Stacking them cans, man, Georgia pine high
|
| Raise hell with a dixie cup
|
| If you tip it on back, turn it on up
|
| You can bet your ass, you’re gonna fit right in round here
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| All my friends drink beer
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| Yeah, all my friends drink beer |