Where have the rebels gone?

We don't need another pretty boy

singing pretty songs

Fake country boys,

doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard,

or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer,

and whipping ass

I need a preacher,

I need a savior,

how about y'all?

Can I get an outlaw?

Let me get a outlaw

like the man who raised me up

Hauling chickens to Kentucky

in the back of beat up trucks

Because all I'm seeing now is

Hollywood wearing some hunting gear

And T.V. shows 'bout idiots that

think country is drinking beer

I'm sick of seeing skinny jeans

smiling like a cover girl

I wanna see some kids outback

with .22's popping squirrels

I wanna see some young guns

going out on a duck hunt

And lesser of this Flappy Bird

and acting like a lazy bum

Cause trends got it twisted

and they make country a petty style

Now where's all my country folks

that actually could go survive

When that stock market crashes

I'll be somewhere deep

off in these pines

Killing shit, kicking ass, and

taking what the hell is mine

We don't need another pretty boy

singing pretty songs

Fake country boys,

doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard,

or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer

and whipping ass

I need a preacher,

I needa savior,

how about y'all?

Can I get an outlaw?

I got scars on my knuckles from

a loud mouth in the parking lot

Knife wounds in my back from so

called friends that tend to lie a lot

There's snakes up in the grass, but,

bubba shit, I'm used to walking tall

And if I feel you're talking shit,

won't second guess to jack your jaw

Today the world we live in, realness

tends to wash and fade away

That's why if you ain't walking s t

then I don't care for s t you say

I met the folks I idolize and so

far they're some white ass lies

Just country faking good disguise,

now tell me how that tends to fly

I'm on my southern rhyme twang,

baby, come and roll with me

Backwoods as it gets and not

the s t that you see on T.V.

I'm talking Chevy C10,

kicking up some brown rocks

.30 06 with a cedar stained wood stock

We don't need another pretty boy

singing pretty songs

Fake country boys,

doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard,

or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer,

and whipping ass

I need a preacher,

I need a savior,

how about y'all?

Can I get an outlaw?

I stay coming in like a rock so

they be calling me the Scottsdale

Cornbread fed, and you know

I'm raising plenty hell

I'm turnt up like some honkies

at a kegger party in a hotel

And I'm breaking down these barriers

like drywall that needs repairs

I'm cold with my shit, boy,

I'm cold with my style boy

That backwoods, that hick town,

that late night, that driving round

That George Strait cranked real loud,

got lightning bugs on my windshield

That back road, no cops found and

I'm sipping on that hot brown

I wreck shit, my motto, got

rednecks by the truckload

That smell good stay sprayed on, I

hit downtown and take girls home

That bonfire, light that up,

home grown shit, roll one

I got a gun rack in by back glass

and a big gun, it holds one

We don't need another pretty boy

singing pretty songs

Fake country boys,

doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard,

or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer,

and whipping ass

I need a preacher,

I need a savior, how about y'all?

Can I get an outlaw?