| Just wiped off that last bit of sweat from that Kubota
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| Got a pre-game six pack ring of Busch waitin' on me
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| Gonna call up my girl, gonna call up my buddies
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| Roll to the bank, cash that Friday paycheck money
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| We circle up those step sides and fog light them woods
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| We ain’t got it all but we got it damn good
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| We keep that needle in the red on that hell raisin' meter
|
| We crank that Charlie Daniel’s out them Ford and Chevy speakers
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| We throw it down in this Podunk town, ain’t afraid to get muddy
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| Yeah, call it what you want to, we just call it country
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| From Main Street to soybean fields at the county line border
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| We hunt, fish, drink, burn shit, cuss, pray, all in that order
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| Yeah call it backwoods, hillbilly, redneck, white trash
|
| Whatever you come up with, it ain’t gonna change the fact
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| We keep that needle in the red on that hell raisin' meter
|
| We crank that Charlie Daniel’s out them Ford and Chevy speakers
|
| We throw it down in this Podunk town, ain’t afraid to get muddy
|
| Yeah, call it what you want to, we just call it country
|
| We keep that needle in the red on that hell raisin' meter
|
| We crank that Charlie Daniel’s out them Ford and Chevy speakers
|
| Stoned down in this Podunk town, ain’t afraid to get muddy
|
| Call it what you want to
|
| We throw it down in this Podunk town, ain’t afraid to get muddy
|
| Yeah, call it what you want to, we just call it country |