I'd rather be seven beers deep, with a Coleman cooler propping up my feet

My ass in a lawn chair, floating on the breeze in a Sun Tracker

I'd rather be tucked in a pit blind somewhere on the Mississippi-Louisiana state line

Waiting on them green-heads to do a fly-by, lip full of tobacco

When I hear you bitch at me

It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be

I'd rather be stripping off shingles on a July roof, down in Tishomingo

Working like a dog, living in a single-wide, yes, I would

I'd rather be stuck at your mama's, watching midday reruns of her favorite dramas

Wearing my pajamas, neck-deep in Days of our Lives

When I hear you bitch at me

It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be

Yeah, all the places I'd rather be

Oh, let me hear it, how I leave my clothes on the floor

Track dirt through the door and don't bother cleaning up

Let me hear 'bout the guy you wish I was

When I hear you bitch at me

It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be

When I hear you bitch at me

It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be

There's a lot of places I'd rather be