| I’m just a good old boy from Virginia
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| Where the smell of tobacco still hangs in the barn
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| The house I grew up in, moma’s singed church hymns
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| While I hid and played Free Bird on daddy’s guitar
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| I learned to put my trust in a good pair of boots
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| And I ain’t ashamed of my down home roots
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| Call me country, it runs deep in my bones
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| My heart’s in my holler, the field’s in my soul
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| There’s a piece of my past down every dirt road
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| It’s my home, oh yeah, call me country
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| I remember granddaddy had a talk about that old oak tree
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| Six generations, too strong to fall down
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| Man you ought to see the sunset when it touches the red dirt
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| How it burns like a brush fire before it goes down
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| This piece of land will always carry my last name
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| When asked who I am, with pride I will say
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| Call me country, it runs deep in my bones
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| My heart’s in my holler, the field’s in my soul
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| There’s a piece of my past down every dirt road
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| It’s my home, oh yeah, call me country
|
| Call me country, it runs deep in my bones
|
| My heart’s in my holler, the field’s in my soul
|
| There’s a piece of my past down every dirt road
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| It’s my home, oh yeah, call me country
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| Yeah, call me country, yeah |