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

Woo!

I ain't never hauled hay in the trunk of my car

But I drink 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, county 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 boogie-woogie, reggae, rap, pop, and soul

Hip-hop, blues, and rock and roll

If you really wanna 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

Yeah, we'll be this way until the day we die

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

Yeah

I said, "C-O-U-N-T-R-Y"

Now that’s country