Yeah.
We’re farmers’ sons an’ preacher’s boys.
Small town with big toys.
Call us fools or call us brave,
On rainy nights, we parade,
In four wheel drives; the girls in jeans too tight.
Ain’t no drive dirt. there ain’t no dust.
Got mud, no fear, Bocephus, cold beer.
We bounce, we slide, we sing while we ride.
We don’t like paved streets, asphalt [...]

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