C-O-U-N-T-R-Y

I ain't never hauled hay in the trunk of my car But I drunk 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, country fairs Huntin' and fishin' and ice cold beer That's the way I'm gonna be 'till 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 boogy woogy, Reggae, Rap, Pop and Soul Hip-Hop Blues, and Rock and Roll If you really want to 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 That's the way we're gonna be until the day we die C-O-U-N-T-R-Y I said, C-O-U-N-T-R-Y