05-08-2013, 07:39 AM
I'll ride my horse and shoot a squirrel and sip on some Jim Beam.
I'll walk the talk and love her hard and be just what I seem.
My jeans are worn but fit me right. My boots are never clean.
I'll use an ax to cut my wood. To hell with those machines.
Our hands are grit and muscle. The dirt is our computer.
Our offices are old red barns. Thank God I'm no commuter.
When life gets tough we buckle down and take things one by one.
No doc could ever shrink my head. Hard work's what we call fun.
The life out here is true and bold. The work is never done.
It's what we call the country. Our time clock is the sun.
I'll walk the talk and love her hard and be just what I seem.
My jeans are worn but fit me right. My boots are never clean.
I'll use an ax to cut my wood. To hell with those machines.
Our hands are grit and muscle. The dirt is our computer.
Our offices are old red barns. Thank God I'm no commuter.
When life gets tough we buckle down and take things one by one.
No doc could ever shrink my head. Hard work's what we call fun.
The life out here is true and bold. The work is never done.
It's what we call the country. Our time clock is the sun.
