He rolls up in his Prius, windows down,
Got a man bun bobbin’ to some DJ sound.
Talkin’ 'bout craft beer, cucumber gin,
Ain’t never swung a hammer or broke his skin.
He’s got soft hands and a latte tan,
Wouldn’t last one hour on a workin’ man’s land.
He ain’t never had nothin’ but light beer and them sissy drinks,
No sweat on his brow, no dirt in the sink.
Ain’t got calloused palms or a busted plank,
Ain’t never smelled diesel, mud, or that sweet, wild stank.
Yeah, he talks real big, but it’s all just rank —
Just a soft-talkin' poser with a mint in his drank.
Got a six-pack of Zima and a selfie stick,
Wouldn’t know a torque wrench from a selfie pic.
I work sun-up till the good Lord’s grace,
He just posts quotes and exfoliates.
He’s got clean boots and a borrowed truck,
Sayin’ “Y’all,” like he earned his luck.
He ain’t never had nothin’ but light beer and them sissy drinks,
No grit in his gut, no edge to his kinks.
Never swung a gate or fought a snake in the tank,
Ain’t never felt rough love that’ll blow your crank.
Yeah, he talks like a cowboy but smells like pranks —
One whiff of the barn and he’d walk the plank.
Now I ain’t judgin’—well maybe I am,
When you call yourself a man, better back up that brand.
‘Cause real ones bleed and real ones stink,
We don’t cry in the mirror over spilled pink drink.
He ain’t never had nothin’ but light beer and them sissy drinks,
Never rode shotgun in a truck that clinks.
Ain’t got scars or the backwoods rank,
Ain’t never met a gal that’d make his knees sank.
So here’s to the rough boys, in boots and thanks —
We drink bourbon, bleed red, and we pull our own ranks.
LowlightFigures
