People talkin' 'bout what is and what ain't country

What gives 'em a right to wear a pair of beat-up boots?

Is it the size of your tires and your fires, or your wild ass buddies?

Well, give me a minute, let me hit you with some hometown truth.

You could be a cowboy on the texas plain

Or a plowboy waitin' on the rain

We're all a little different, but we're all the same

Everybody doin' their own thing.

I got my dirt road cred when I was twelve

On a no cab tractor hauling 'em bales

Backing in boats, fishing limb lines

Running bird dogs through the georgia pines

Step side covered down in peanut dust

Friday night spotlight, that was us

It might not've been you, but I can't judge

Just be proud of what makes you country.

Does it run in your blood?

Did it come from your daddy and mama?

Where you converted by an alabama song on the radio?

That feels so right

Did you lock eyes with a little green eyed girl from jackson?

Tell me what got ya, I just gotta know.

Me, I got my sunday learning in a live-oak church

Silver queen corn in the backyard dirt

Waiting for the fall to finally come along

So I can grab by gun and get my outside on

Step side cover down in peanut dust

Friday night spotlight, that was us

It might not've been you, but I can't judge

Just be proud of what makes you country.

Might be from a city or a little farm town

Whatever kind of square that you drove around

Do you wear it on your sleeve or keep it deep down?

You know you gotta let it out.

I got my dirt road cred back when I was twelve

On a no cab tractor haulin' 'em bales

Backing in boats, fishing limb lines

Running bird dogs through them georgia pines

Step side covered down in peanut dust

Friday night spotlight, that was us

It might not've been you, but I ain't judging

And just be proud of what makes you country

Whatever makes you country.

You do your kinda country

They doing they kind of country

I do my kind of country

Whatever makes us country.