Whiskey Myers - Ballad Of A Southern Man lyrics

My first rifle was a .243, 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 pickle creek dam, but I guess that's something you don't understand. Grandmas in the kitchen; Papas drunk past dawn; We sit out on the front porch, Just a pickin' on the songs; and there's blood on the table, cause 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. Grandmas in the kitchen; Papas drunk past dawn; we sit out on the front porch, just a pickin' on the songs; and there's blood on the table, cause 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 bankers gonna steal from me; they wanna tear it all apart. Grandmas in the kitchen; Papas done past on; we sit out on the front porch, just a pickin' on the songs; and there's a bible on the table, cause he bleed 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 .243, Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me.