"Ballad Of A Southern Man" lyrics - WHISKEY MYERS

My first rifle was a.243
That 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
Sneakin' pulls of shine from a mason jar
Used to go fishin' out Pickle Creek Dam
But I guess that's somethin' you don't understand

[Chorus:]
Grandma's in the kitchen
Papa's done passed on
We sit out on the front porch
Just a pickin' on a song
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 somethin' you don't understand

I still fly that Southern Flag
Whistlin' Dixie ridin' up to Bragg
And I know all the words to Simple Man
I guess that's somethin' 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 somethin' you don't understand

[Chorus:]
Grandma's in the kitchen
Papas done passed on
We sit out on the front porch
Just a pickin' on a song
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 somethin' you don't understand

They'll grind us up in a big machine
They'll feed us all on the same beliefs
For the dollar and a credit card;
But we got a way of doin' things
And no bankers gonna steal from me
They wanna tear it all apart

[Chorus:]
Grandma's in the kitchen
Papas done passed on
We sit out on the front porch
Just a pickin' on a song
And there's a Bible on the table
'Cause He bled for what we have
And that's the ballad of a southern man
I guess that's somethin' you don't understand

[Outro:]
My first rifle was a.243
Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me