| Well momma never was no angel,
|
| Daddy never was no saint
|
| There ain’t a pretty childhood picture
|
| these family lines can paint
|
| This ain’t no sob story
|
| This ain’t no complaint
|
| Hell, I’m proud of who I am
|
| Proud of what I ain’t
|
| Cause I was born a bastard child,
|
| Daddy run off and momma run wild
|
| I got a crooked cowboy smile
|
| I walk a crooked country mile
|
| Coulda done worse, shoulda done better
|
| Momma woulda tried if the bottle ever let her,
|
| I ain’t prince or a pile,
|
| ain’t doing bad for a bastard child
|
| I was a fathers only son of a bitch
|
| one the family never claimed
|
| and you can bet I didn’t grow up rich
|
| and never really had a last name
|
| I bear the mark of the bastard child
|
| but I wear it with no shame
|
| for any good or bad I’ve done
|
| I’ll take the credit and the blame
|
| Cause I was born a bastard child,
|
| Daddy run off and momma run wild
|
| I got a crooked cowboy smile
|
| I walk a crooked country mile
|
| Coulda done worse, shoulda done better
|
| Momma woulda tried if the bottle ever let her,
|
| I ain’t prince or a pile,
|
| ain’t doing bad for a bastard child
|
| Well I’m a son of the earth
|
| a real bad seed
|
| All I’ll ever be worth
|
| is all I’ll ever need
|
| I’m just thankful for my birth
|
| and for my family
|
| or else I wouldn’t be me
|
| Cause I was born a bastard child,
|
| Daddy run off and momma run wild
|
| I got a crooked cowboy smile
|
| I walk a crooked country mile
|
| Coulda done worse, shoulda done better
|
| Momma woulda tried if the bottle ever let her,
|
| I ain’t prince or a pile,
|
| ain’t doing bad for a bastard child
|
| I grew up fast, grew up wild,
|
| ain’t doing bad for a bastard child |