G        D           Cadd9  G
My first rifle was a .243
     Em       D         Cadd9         G 
That papa gave daddy and daddy gave to me
G                         D            Cadd9  Em
And-they taught me how to shoot with a steady hand
Em             D            Cadd9      G
I guess that’s somethin' you don't understand

     G      D       Cadd9  G
Now, i grew up on a prison farm
Em               D            Cadd9 G
Sneakin' pulls-of-shine from a mason jar
G          D           Cadd9       Em
Used to go fishing out cripple creek dam
Em                D             Cadd9       G
But i guess that’s somethin' you don't understand

Cadd9             G
Grandma's in the kitchen
Cadd9  G         D
Papa done passed on
Cadd9             G
We sit out on the front porch
       Em     D   Cadd9
Just a pickin’ on a song
           Cadd9         G
And there's blood on the table
         Cadd9     G       D
'cause we work for what we have
          Em    D       Cadd9
And i was raised in this land
Em            D             Cadd9       G
I guess that’s somethin' you don't understand

    G       D        Cadd9    G
And i still fly that southern flag
Em7       D          Cadd9    G
Whistling dixieland enough to brag
      G            D        Cadd9  Em
And i know all the words to "simple man"
Em            D             Cadd9       G
I guess that’s something you don't understand

G              D            Cadd9    G
I pledge my allegiance the original way
Em           D               Cadd9      G
I say, "merry christmas," not "happy holidays"
           G         D       Cadd9      Em
They can’t change my ways, i know who i am
Em            D             Cadd9       G
I guess that’s somethin' you don't understand

Cadd9             G
Grandma's in the kitchen
Cadd9  G         D
Papa done passed on
Cadd9             G
We sit out on the front porch
       Em     D    Cadd9
Just a pickin’ on a song
Cadd9                    G
And there's blood on the table
         Cadd9     G       D
'cause we work for what we have
Em          D       Cadd9
I was raised in this land
Em            D             Cadd9       G
I guess that’s somethin' you don't understand

Bb                      F
They'll grind us up in a big machine
C                         G
They'll feed us all on the same beliefs
Bb   F                      C
Holy dollar and a credit card
Bb                  F
But we got a way of doing things
C                    G          
And no bankers gonna steal from me
D
They wanna tear it all apart

Cadd9            G
Grandma's in the kitchen
Cadd9 G          D
Papa done passed on
Cadd9             G
We sit out on the front porch
       Em     D   Cadd9
Just a pickin’ on a song
              Cadd9        G
And there's a bible on the table
         Cadd9     G       D
'cause he bled for what we have
               Em       D       Cadd9
And that's the ballad of southern man
   Em             D            Cadd9       G
But i guess that’s something you don't understand

G        D         Cadd9 Em
My first rifle was a .243
Em       D         Cadd9         G
Papa gave daddy and daddy gave to me