Dying Breed

Never been much of a go out party crowd drinker More of a sit alone on a creek bank sunset thinker Little more lovin than leavin Little more find the real thing it just ain't singing I'm a little more lyric than I am rhythm Little more tree stand prayer than back pew pretending Little less grudge and a lot more forgiving Little less talk and a lot more listen Maybe I'm just old fashioned Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth Maybe I'm just an old has been Who got it all wrong Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed. Now I ain't much of a sit around hand out taker More of a bust my ass for a ring and a dream On a couple of acres. With a little more dirt than pavement Holding her hand growing old on the front porch Swinging. I don't think there's a damn thing wrong with that. Maybe I'm just old fashioned Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth Maybe I'm just an old has been Who got it all wrong Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed. Maybe I'm just old fashioned Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth Maybe I'm just an old has been Who got it all wrong Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed. Short of this dying breed. I'm a little more lyric than I am rhythm. Little more tree stand prayer than back pew pretending...