Ballad of a Southern Man

My first rifle was a .243 Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me And they taught me how to shoot with a steady hand I guess that's somethin' you don't understand Now, I grew up on a prison farm Sneaking pulls of shine from a mason jar Used to go fishing out Pickle Creek dam But I guess that's somethin' you don't understand Grandma's in the kitchen Papa's done past on We sit out on the front porch Just a pickin' on the songs 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 And I still fly that southern flag Whistling Dixieland enough to brag And I know all the words to simple man I guess that's somethin' you don't understand 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 Grandma's in the kitchen Papa's done past on We sit out on the front porch Just a pickin' on the songs There's blood on the table 'Cause we work for what we have I was raised in this land I guess that's somethin' you don't understand A pile of soap and a big machine I'll feed us all on the same beliefs Holy 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 Grandma's in the kitchen Papa's done past on We sit out on the front porch Just a pickin' on the songs And there's a bible on the table 'Cause he bleed for what we have And that's the ballad of a southern man I guess that's somethin' you don't understand My first rifle was a .243 Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me