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Ging-Gus Kahn
Franklin County Coding Company
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At John A. Logan College, just tryin' to get through
Drivin' granddaddy's Chevy, wearin' muddy boots too
Skoal in my pocket, hat brim low
Doin' what I can with the little I know
Signed up for history, thought it'd be fine
'Til the professor called me out like I'd crossed some line
I said, "Jing-Gus Kahn led the Mongol clan,"
He chuckled and said, "It's pronounced Jain-gus, young man."
Smirked at my drawl, made the class turn and snicker
But he didn't know my daddy taught me only women bicker
So I tipped my hat and stood up in place
Packed my Skoal and spit it right in his face
Said, "Jain-gess, Ging-gus, don't matter to me
He conquered the world, and I'm just tryin' to be free."
You can mock my boots, you can sneer at my drawl
But I'm proud of where I'm from, dirt roads and all
He talked 'bout culture, said I wouldn't succeed
'Cause I didn't fit his world of books and degrees
But history's written in sweat and with hands
Not just fancy words or big city plans
I said, "Professor, you ain't walked where I've been
Where calluses tell stories and the fields don't end."
The class sat silent, he took off his glasses, wiped his shirt
He looked at me with a sneer and said, "You'll never be anything but dirt."
Well, I don't need his approval, I don't need his respect
I'll keep my pride, he can keep his intellect
So I tipped my hat and stood up in place
Packed my Skoal and spit it right in his face
Said, "Jain-gess, Ging-gus, don't matter to me
He conquered the world, and I'm just tryin' to be free."
You can mock my boots, you can sneer at my drawl
But I'm proud of where I'm from, dirt roads and all
Out in the holler, we act on what we feel
We know the value of hard work and in honest deals
So I'll wear my boots and I'll keep this tone
'Cause out here in the country, we stand on our own
Ohhhh
Well, that coward professor pressed charges, got me expelled
But the sheriff just laughed and said, "It'd be easier to serve a warrant to Hell."
Way out in the country, where the dirt roads wind
No address to follow, just my state of mind
They called it a crime, but I call it my roots
Drivin' granddaddy's Chevy, wearin' muddy boots
So while they're searchin' the map, tryin' to find my place
I'll be sittin' on the porch, and he'll still have Skoal on his face
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