🎸 Title: “Born to Raise the Bar”
(An Outlaw Country Anthem — loud, proud, and whiskey bound)
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🔥 Intro Verse (Scene Setter):
Somewhere between a beer joint and a bar fight,
You’ll find me pickin’ under neon light.
There’s a cloud of smoke and a crowd half wild,
Singin’ off-key but country-styled.
We ain’t polished, we ain’t fake,
We’re shot glass saints in a boot-scuffed state.
Spoken growl (half-sung):
And if that offends you, hell… you’re in the wrong damn bar.
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Verse 1:
Daddy taught me how to work, and Mama taught me right,
But I learned more in a honky-tonk fight.
Got my first six-pack, raised all kinds of hell,
With a steel guitar screamin’ and a story to tell.
Pre-Chorus:
Some folks preach, some folks pray,
Me, I cuss, drink, and pick all day.
Chorus:
’Cause I was born to raise the bar,
Playin’ Hank and Waylon on my scarred-up guitar.
Ain’t no shame in who I am,
Whiskey in my blood and mud on my tire, man.
Some call it sin, I call it tradition—
Damn right, it’s a country condition.
Ain’t no angel ridin’ in my car,
’Cause I was born… to raise the bar.
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Verse 2:
Mama said, “Boy, slow down, you’re runnin’ wild,”
But I’ve been hell-bent since I was a child.
Got a half-torn Bible and a full tank of gas,
And a bad reputation that just won’t pass.
Pre-Chorus:
I ain’t lookin’ for no fancy crown,
Just a loud-ass crowd and a low-down town.
Chorus:
Yeah, I was born to raise the bar,
Light it up like a whiskey jar.
Ain’t no saint, but I ain’t lyin’,
I’d rather raise hell than sit there cryin’.
Some call it wrong, I call it livin’,
Beer’s cold, the devil’s grinnin’.
Ain’t no preacher gonna change my scars,
’Cause I was born… to raise the bar.
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🔥 Bridge (Callin’ ‘Em Out):
Now they’re sellin’ out country with a pop-star smile,
Talkin’ trucks and dirt roads but ain’t seen one in a while.
Got rhinestone jeans and auto-tuned lies,
Hell, they wouldn’t know Merle if he looked ‘em in the eyes.
Give me a steel guitar and a pedal tone cry,
Over snap tracks, beats, and city-slick ties.
They call it country — I call it a joke,
Hell, give me a beer and a good ol’ smoke!
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Final Chorus:
Yeah, I was born to raise the bar,
Crankin’ real country from a rusted car.
If you’re like me, lift that glass,
Here’s to the outlaws who don’t kiss ass.
We ain’t perfect, but we damn sure are—
Hell yeah, we were born… to raise the bar!
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Tag/Outro (spoken, over roaring steel solo):
“So here’s to the outlaws, the misfits,
the ones still keepin’ it loud and proud.
We ain’t Nashville clean — we’re dirt road mean.
Now raise your drink… and raise some hell.”
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