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C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
HARDY
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I ain't never hauled hay in the trunk of my car
But I drink a little shine from a Mason jar
I know how to work and how to have fun
I'm a good-timin' blue collar son of a gun
I like monster trucks, tractor pulls, county fairs
Huntin' and fishin' and ice cold beer
That's the way I'm gonna be 'til the day I die
C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
My baby looks hot in her high heel shoes
She looks even cooler in her cowboy boots
She can dance to the music all night long
She's a stick of dynamite, she's bad to the bone
She likes boogie-woogie, reggae, rap, pop and soul
Hip-hop, blues and rock 'n' roll
If you really wanna know what drives her wild
C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
You might not know it by the way we talk
We might not show it by the way we walk
But we're true and tried, genuine, certified
C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
It will be this way until the day we die
C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
I said C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
Now that's country