Story Behind The Song

NOT MAKING EXCUSES FOR BEING WHO I AM

Song Description

PLAYED IN A MAJOR

Lyrics

UNAPOLOGETICALLY COUNTRY

(Verse 1)
Got a sticker on the back of my Chevrolet
Says "If my music's too loud, you're too far away"
Got a red dirt tan and grease on my hands
Workin' hard for a livin' on this hard-headed land
They look at my boots and they shake their heads
Say I oughta move on to where the pavement spreads
Put a label on my back, call me out of touch
Well, I reckon they don't know me quite that much.


(Chorus)
'Cause I'm a sun-bit, dirt-road, tailgate-slappin' fool
Raised on the gospel according to George Strait's school
I like my whiskey neat, my Friday nights loud
And I ain't ever tryin' to fit in with their crowd
You can call me old-fashioned, call me a cliché
Yeah, I'm ridin' this pony my own damn way
I got twang in my talk, and pride in my bones
Yeah, I'm unapologetically country to the marrow and bone.


(Verse 2)
My radio's tuned to an AM frequency
Playin' a steel guitar cryin' out to me
Got a hound dog sleepin' underneath the front porch
Burnin' up the dark like a pine-resin torch
Some folks trade their soul for a high-rise view
Give me a double-wide sky and the mornin' dew
I ain't ashamed of the mud on these tires
Or the smoke risin' up from the back-40 fires.


(Chorus)
'Cause I'm a sun-bit, dirt-road, tailgate-slappin' fool
Raised on the gospel according to George Strait's school
I like my whiskey neat, my Friday nights loud
And I ain't ever tryin' to fit in with their crowd
You can call me old-fashioned, call me a cliché
Yeah, I'm ridin' this pony my own damn way
I got twang in my talk, and pride in my bones
Yeah, I'm unapologetically country to the marrow and bone.


(Bridge)
(Fiddle and guitar trade licks)
They say the world's a-changin', movin' too fast
Tryin' to bury the future and rewrite the past
Well, let 'em change the rules, let 'em change the song
I'll be right here where I belong
With a hat on my head and beer in my cup
Yeah, some things are built that can't be washed up!


(Guitar Solo - High energy, pure honky-tonk)


(Chorus)
'Cause I'm a sun-bit, dirt-road, tailgate-slappin' fool
Raised on the gospel according to George Strait's school
I like my whiskey neat, my Friday nights loud
And I ain't ever tryin' to fit in with their crowd
You can call me old-fashioned, call me a cliché
Yeah, I'm ridin' this pony my own damn way
I got twang in my talk, and pride in my bones
Yeah, I'm unapologetically country to the marrow and bone.


(Outro)
Yeah, the marrow and bone.
You heard me.
Pass the moonshine, turn it up.