A
I grew up here where there aint much blacktop,
G                     D
The headlights on the interstate dont stop.
A
Any man worth his weight plows a straight row,
G                        D
And all the money is the grain in the silo.

A
Theres just enough home grown pretty girls,
G                          D
Growin up around here that like to sip cold beer.
A
Its a blink and you miss it kinda town,
G*                               
The kind of place that makes the world go round.

A
My wheels have rolled all this red dirt, 
G                 D
My hands have got scars from the hard work.
A
Me and my friends unwind on the outskirts,
G                       D
Our Friday nights might get a little black and blue.

A
Im out here ridin high on a lift kit,
G                         D
I see the world through a crack where a rock hit.
A
I am who I am, I do what I do,
G*                    D*
Lookin at life from a broken windshield view.

A G D

A
A truck beds got a half roll of barbed wire,
G                   D
A bail of hay and a patched up spare tire.
A
Cross on a chain hangin from a rear view,
G                D
Fifth in a brown paper sack packing 80 proof.

A
A sun droppin off into that cornfield,
G                     D
Thunderhead lightning comin right behind it.
A
These two lane roads aint paved in gold,
G*            
Man flying gravels all I know.

A
My wheels have rolled all this red dirt, 
G                 D
My hands have got scars from the hard work.
A
Me and my friends unwind on the outskirts,
G                       D
Our Friday nights might get a little black and blue.

A
Im out here ridin high on a lift kit,
G                         D
I see the world through a crack where a rock hit.
A
I am who I am, I do what I do,
G                     D
Lookin at life from a broken windshield view.

A  G    D
  Yeah, cmon

A G D

     A
Yeah its just a blink and you miss it kind of town,
G*                               D*
The kind of place that makes the world go round.

A
My wheels have rolled all this red dirt, 
G                 D
My hands have got scars from the hard work.
A
Me and my friends unwind on the outskirts,
G                       D
Our Friday nights might get a little black and blue.

A
Im out here ridin high on a lift kit,
G                         D
I see the world through a crack where a rock hit.
A
I am who I am, I do what I do,
G                     D
Lookin at life from a broken windshield view.
A
I am who I am, I do what I do,
G*                    D*
Lookin at life from a broken windshield view.
A G       D
    From a broken windshield view
A G D
  Yeah
A G D