Lyrics to What I Claim
I ain't the best singer or the best lookin'
Ain't got a plan to make people listen to me
Ain't no designer tellin' me what to wear
I hit Tractor Supply and get six of the same pair
My claim to fame is a story in a page
Marijuana and some thoughts written down to explain
From a day I lived and turned into a song
As I sat on a porch gettin' stoned at my farm
29 years old, I live in a dream
Big fancy tour bus and millions of streams
But I'm still in muddy water, way more than waist-deep
I love my hook bringin' and I ain't a strange
That I claim the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
And I claim the rebel flags, flyin' high off a young man's Scottsdale cab
And I claim every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos they still proud of
It ain't how I dress, naw it ain't how I sing, it's how I tell 'em what I claim
I'll never be another Johnny Cash
But I feel like him when I'm pissed-off mad
In one of my muscle cars goin' way too fast
Not worried if a deer even kills my ass
Then after a few miles, I quit bein' so wreckless
Light me up a roach while I'm listenin' to Elvis
Like a hound dog hangin' out the window
Still holdin' my soul 'cause the devil can't get it
Yeah, music ain't money 'round here, no sir
It's the blood in her veins and a flag on the porch
Red with a blue circle holdin' three bright stars
In the 615, ask who we are
They'll say we claim the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
Yeah, we claim the rebel flags, flyin' high off a young man's Scottsdale cab
And we claim every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos they still proud of
Yeah, it ain't how we dress, naw it ain't how we sing, it's how we tell 'em what we claim
And hell naw, we ain't ashamed
Hopefully, one day, long from now
Way in the future, when I'm underground
A rebel child will discover the sound
Of a Nashville-born, redneck loud-mouth
And say that he claimed the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
Yeah, he claimed the rebel flags, flyin' high off his truck and he didn't get scared
And he claimed every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos like he had on his arm
Yeah, it ain't how he dressed, and it ain't how he sang, it's how he told 'em what he claimed
Ain't got a plan to make people listen to me
Ain't no designer tellin' me what to wear
I hit Tractor Supply and get six of the same pair
My claim to fame is a story in a page
Marijuana and some thoughts written down to explain
From a day I lived and turned into a song
As I sat on a porch gettin' stoned at my farm
29 years old, I live in a dream
Big fancy tour bus and millions of streams
But I'm still in muddy water, way more than waist-deep
I love my hook bringin' and I ain't a strange
That I claim the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
And I claim the rebel flags, flyin' high off a young man's Scottsdale cab
And I claim every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos they still proud of
It ain't how I dress, naw it ain't how I sing, it's how I tell 'em what I claim
I'll never be another Johnny Cash
But I feel like him when I'm pissed-off mad
In one of my muscle cars goin' way too fast
Not worried if a deer even kills my ass
Then after a few miles, I quit bein' so wreckless
Light me up a roach while I'm listenin' to Elvis
Like a hound dog hangin' out the window
Still holdin' my soul 'cause the devil can't get it
Yeah, music ain't money 'round here, no sir
It's the blood in her veins and a flag on the porch
Red with a blue circle holdin' three bright stars
In the 615, ask who we are
They'll say we claim the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
Yeah, we claim the rebel flags, flyin' high off a young man's Scottsdale cab
And we claim every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos they still proud of
Yeah, it ain't how we dress, naw it ain't how we sing, it's how we tell 'em what we claim
And hell naw, we ain't ashamed
Hopefully, one day, long from now
Way in the future, when I'm underground
A rebel child will discover the sound
Of a Nashville-born, redneck loud-mouth
And say that he claimed the rednecks and everywhere that's out on a mountain
Yeah, he claimed the rebel flags, flyin' high off his truck and he didn't get scared
And he claimed every good ol' boy with homemade tattoos like he had on his arm
Yeah, it ain't how he dressed, and it ain't how he sang, it's how he told 'em what he claimed
