C-O-U-N-T-R-Y

I ain't never hauled hay in the trunk of my car
 But I drunk a little shine from a mason jar
 I know how to work and how to have fun
 I'm a good-timin', blue-collar, son-of-a-gun
 I like monster trucks, tractor pulls, country fairs
 Huntin' and fishin' and ice cold beer
 That's the way I'm gonna be 'till the day I die
 C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
 My baby looks hot in her high heel shoes
 She looks even cooler in her cowboy boots
 She can dance to the music, all night long
 She's a stick of dynamite, she's bad to the bone
 She likes boogy woogy, Reggae, Rap, Pop and Soul
 Hip-Hop Blues, and Rock and Roll
 If you really want to know what drives her wild
 C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
 You might not know it by the way we talk
 We might not show it by the way we walk
 But we're true and tried, genuine, certified
 C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
 That's the way we're gonna be until the day we die
 C-O-U-N-T-R-Y
 I said, C-O-U-N-T-R-Y