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 something 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 something you don't understand Grandmas in the kitchen Papa's done passed 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 something you don't understand I still fly that southern flag Whistling Dixieland enough to brag And I know all the words to simple man I guess that's something you don't understand I 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 something you don't understand Grandmas in the kitchen Papa's done passed 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 something you don't understand They'll grind us up in a big machine They'll feed us all on the same beliefs Holy dollar and a credit card But we got a way of doing things And no bankers gonna steal from me They wanna tear it all apart Grandmas in the kitchen Papa's done passed 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 something you don't understand My first rifle was a .243 Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me