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ballad of a southern man - whiskey myers lyrics

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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.

a pile of soap and a big machine;
i’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.

- whiskey myers lyrics

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