| Well we grew up down by the railroad tracks
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| Shootin' b.b.'s at old beer cans
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| Chokin' on the smoke from a lucky strike
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| Somebody lifted off of his old man
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| We were football flunkies
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| Southern rock junkies
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| Crankin' up the stereo
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| Singin' loud and proud to gimme three steps
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| Simple Man, and Curtis Lowe
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| We were good you know
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| We got some discount knowledge at the junior college
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| Where we majored in beer and girls
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| It was all real funny 'til we ran out of money
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| And they threw us out into the world
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| Yeah the kids that thought they’d run this town
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| Ain’t runnin' much of anything
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| We’re just lovin' and laughin'
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| And bustin' our asses
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| And we call it all livin' the dream
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| These are my people
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| This is where I come from
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| We’re givin' this life everything we’ve got and then some
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| It ain’t always pretty
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| But it’s real
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| That’s the way we were made
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| Wouldn’t have it any other way
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| These are my people
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| Well we take it all week on the chin with a grin
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| Till we make it to a Friday night
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| And it’s church league softball holler 'bout a bad call
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| Preacher breakin' up the fight
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| Then later on at the green light tavern
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| Well everybody’s gatherin' as friends
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| And the beer is pourin' till Monday mornin'
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| Where we start all over again
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| We fall down and we get up
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| We walk proud and we talk tough
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| We got heart and we got nerve
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| Even if we are a bit disturbed |