Lyrics to Truck
If it's cleaned up, shined up, pedal down on Main
You can bet he's pickin' up some pretty country thang
If it's covered up in red mud with a worn-out Warn winch
There's a good chance that that man is a pretty damn good friend
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
He ain't scared of nothin'
And if the 12-pack's in the passenger seat
Well he probably worked his ass off all week
Yeah, somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's a silver cross hangin' off his dusty old rearview
It's safe to say he's found Amazing Grace a time or two
If there's numbers on the back '92 to 2012
Bet this story's about his best friend that he can barely tell
'Cause he misses him like hell
Somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
He ain't scared of nothin'
And if the 12-pack's in the passenger seat
Yeah, well he probably worked his ass off all week
Yeah, somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
Yeah, you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
You can't judge a book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
You can bet he's pickin' up some pretty country thang
If it's covered up in red mud with a worn-out Warn winch
There's a good chance that that man is a pretty damn good friend
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
He ain't scared of nothin'
And if the 12-pack's in the passenger seat
Well he probably worked his ass off all week
Yeah, somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's a silver cross hangin' off his dusty old rearview
It's safe to say he's found Amazing Grace a time or two
If there's numbers on the back '92 to 2012
Bet this story's about his best friend that he can barely tell
'Cause he misses him like hell
Somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
He ain't scared of nothin'
And if the 12-pack's in the passenger seat
Yeah, well he probably worked his ass off all week
Yeah, somewhere way out there in any given town
There's a red, white, and blue collar drivin' his around
Turnin' heads, and burnin' tread, and stirrin' up dust clouds
Like a shine haulin' outlaw
Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout his truck
His dash
The county on his tag
The songs on his radio
The stickers on his glass
From four bars to two bars
It's true you can't judge
A book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
If there's dents on the side
Yeah, you can judge a country boy by his truck
If there's horns in the back
There's a gun in the front
You can't judge a book by its cover
But you can judge a country boy by his truck
