Writer(s): Rodney Clawson, Chris Tompkins
You get your hands in it
Plant your roots in it
Dusty head light dance with your boots in it Damn
You write her name on it
Spin your tires on it
Build your corn field whiskey
bonfires on it Damn
You bet your life on it
Yeah It’s that elm shade
red rust clay you grew up on
That plowed up ground
that your dad
damned his luck on
That post game party field
you circled up on
When it rains
you get stuck on
Drift a cloud back
behind county roads
that you run up
The mud on her jeans
that she peeled off
and hung up
Her blue eyed
summertime smile
looks so good that it hurts
Makes you wanna build
a ten percent down
white picket fence house on this dirt
You mix some sweat with it
taking a shovel to it
You stuck some crosses and some painted
goal posts through it
Damn You know you came from it
and someday you’ll return to
that elm shade red rust clay
you grew up on
That plowed up ground
that your dad
damned his luck on
That post game party field
you circled up on
When it rains
you get stuck on
Drift a cloud back
behind county roads
that you run up
The mud on her jeans
that she peeled off
and hung up
Her blue eyed
summertime smile
looks so good that it hurts
Makes you wanna build
a ten percent down
white picket fence house on this dirt
You know you came from it
and someday you'll return to
this elm shade red rust clay
you grew up on
That plowed up ground
that your dad
damned his luck on
That post game party field
you circled up on
When it rains
you get stuck on
Drift a cloud back
behind county roads
that you run up
The mud on her jeans
that she peeled off
and hung up
Her blue eyed
summertime smile
looks so good that it hurts
Makes you wanna build
a ten percent down
white picket fence house on this dirt
You know you came from it
and someday you'll return to it
