City Trouble and Country Roots

Well, I reckon I got a tale to tell,

'Bout a city feller in a trouble spell.

A big ol' hoodie and some shiny bling,

Living wild, doing all kinds of things.

Down in the city, where the neon lights glow,

There's a man with big lips, fast and loud, y'know.

Loves his chicken, watermelon, he's got a gang,

Livin' life risky, got a Glock on his dang.

Living on the edge, with food stamps in his hand,

Government handouts in this concrete land.

Drugs in his pocket, trouble's his game,

But grandkids, listen, this ain't no fame.

Don't be like that city feller, no sir,

Thinkin' he's tough, but he's just a spiller,

Of trouble and stories that ain’t worth a dime,

Stay on the farm, take your time.

Darker skinned, with a big chain around his neck,

Hustlin' and bustlin', what the heck?

He’s part of a gang, doin' wrong and wrong,

But old farm boy’s wisdom sings a different song.

Living on the edge, with food stamps in his hand,

Government handouts in this concrete land.

Drugs in his pocket, trouble's his game,

But grandkids, listen, this ain't no fame.

Don't be like that city feller, no sir,

Thinkin' he's tough, but he's just a spiller,

Of trouble and stories that ain’t worth a dime,

Stay on the farm, take your time.

Now I love my watermelon, chicken too,

But I know a lotta fine folks, honest and true.

City life ain’t always the way to go,

Better to grow where the tall grass grows.

So remember, my grandkids, stay humble and kind,

Keep your head up, and a clear mind.

There’s truth in these country roads,

Not in trouble, guns, or costly loads.