Country must be country right

Red clay caked on my boots

Dust in my lungs, badge in my rearview

Mama said, “Boy, pick a side”

Small town prayers, big city pride

Half tank, heart full

Bible on the dash, mind full of bad news

One foot on the gravel, one on the gas

I’ve been runnin’ from the mirror in the glass

Country must be country right

If it sounds like dirt and a Friday night

If it feels like hurt and a barroom fight

I’m singin’ for the lost ones, singin’ for my own life

Country must be country right

Even with these subs and the neon sky

If it heals my heart, if it saves my mind

Then this backroad battle cry

Is still country, country right

Tattoo ink on my tan line

Granddad’s knife, chrome shine on the waistline

Got a verse for the kids on the fence

Steel strings, gold teeth, same accent

They say I changed, say I sold my name

But this old truck still knows my pain

From the hayfield smoke to the hood up high

It’s the same old prayer in a different rhyme

Turn it up for the farmhands, [low vocal register]

Turn it up for the projects

Turn it up for the “never fit in”

And the lost, and the misfit prophets (yeah)

Boot prints on the pavement

Boot prints in the pine

If your heart beats like a shotgun

You’re still standin’ in my bloodline