Karaoké Ballad of a Southern Man Whiskey Myers

My first rifle was a two fourty three

Papa gave Daddy and

Daddy gave to me

And they taught me how to shoot with a steady hand

I guess that's something you don't understand

Now I grew up on a prison farm

Sneaking pulls of shine from a mason jar

Used to go fishing out of pickle creek dam

But I guess that's something you don't understand

Grandma's in the kitchen

Papa's done past on

We sit out on the front porch

Just a pickin' on the songs

And there's blood on the table

'Cos we work for what we have

And I was raised in this land

I guess that's something you don't understand

I still fly that southern flag

Whistling Dixieland enough to brag

And I know all the words to Simple Man

I guess that's something you don't understand

I pledge my allegiance the original way

Say Merry Christmas not Happy Holidays

I can't change my ways

I know who I am

I guess that's something you don't understand

Grandma's in the kitchen

Papa's done past on

We sit out on the front porch

Just a pickin' on the songs

And there's blood on the table

'Cos we work for what we have

And I was raised in this land

I guess that's something you don't understand

They'll grind us up in a big machine

They'll feed us all on the same beliefs

Holy dollar and a credit card

But we got a way of doing things

And no banker's gonna steal from me

They wanna tear it all apart

Grandma's in the kitchen

Papa's done passed on

We sit out on the front porch

Just a pickin' on the songs

And there's a Bible on the table 'cos he bled for what we have

And that's the ballad of a southern man

I guess that's something you don't understand

My first rifle was a two fourty three

Papa gave Daddy and

Daddy gave to me