Country Ain't Country

Got yourself a big black ten-gallon hat, a dog named Spot, a sense in the back, a mud cover fully lifted, a ass-kickin' Dodge 4x4, a redneck truck, take your girl, Mud, and pray like hell that you get stuck

Got yourself a ten-pound buckle from the rodeo, gonna build-upgrade the eight-track to a hi-fi MFM radio, a lot of kitchen books, posh and custom-made rattleskin cowboy boots, that go so damn well with your brand-new dive-stone velvet suit

You can dress the part, you can talk the talk, impress the ladies with a culture walk, but one thing is perfectly clear, since you're so bullin' through her ear, you wanna make her play a little Patrick Lyon, cause anything else is a waste of time, you wanna get a look in, slide in Shania Twain

What happens next? I ain't to blame

You're a little bit angry, try a little highway to hell, a little bit of fog seems to never fail, but if you want more, a true country boy shouldn't have to try, cause country ain't country if the women don't go cry

Got yourself a nice bill to pay to look the king, last week's yard sale, found your girl a wedding ring, a high-profile been around the world long before you burned the grass, and you pray to John Wayne that Pink Flamingo don't kick his ass

Got yourself some stone-washed denim jeans, time to start searching for your beauty queen, a head-spinning city, six-color long-sleeve flannel shirt, go and drink all night, at least until it starts to hurt

You can dress the part, you can talk the talk, impress the ladies with a country walk, but one thing is perfectly clear, seduce a bullin' through her ear, you wanna make her play a little Patrick Lyon, cause anything else is a waste of time, you wanna get a look in, slide in Shania Twain