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this is the whole song these five chords same pattern throughout INTRO D Am F G D
DCountry fried, bAmaptized in gravy FCan't wasGh off what the good LorDd made ya DNo matter how faAmr that highway goes FAn old diGrt road'll get you homeD (c'mon!) DIf you see it inAm their eye when they try to lie FIf you thGe bullet-hole-in-a-stopD-sign kind DThen I'm right tAmhere wit'cha, put your drinks up high FFor my coGuntry folk (hey) my couDntry folk (hey)
VERSE
DI'm out here on Ama thousand acre plot of land FAnd I canG't hear 'em hatin on meD, I'm a modest man DTalkin with JimmAmy Mathis and he got a plan FAnd when Ghe talk I listen to himD, that's a lot of man (pops!) DHe said we need Amto take it back to the root of it FI put on Gfor the country, that'sD the truth of it
I'm talkin last millenium we was reppin it Before anybody had accepted it (anybody!) We introduced 'em to the cooler on the tailgate Full of cold Nattie Light playin "Satellite" A lil' Dave while we misbehave, okay (okay) Once we figured the game out, we go play (go!) The generation of people that love 2Pac And hate, we bangin it in the boondocks Now put your drink in the air if you ain't scared Dem folks been doin that thang, yeah [Chorus] [Colt Ford] + (Bubba Sparxxx) See me and Bubba, we've been doin this a long while It sure seems a lot longer than a country mile Hollywood look good, full of fake frieds I never thought we could ever be here again (we back!) Time heals, one fell, one came up Back together son, we gon' tear this thing up A lot of talk cousin, I ain't gotta name 'em They wanna be us, hell I can't blame 'em (nah) So looky here, cold beer on the tailgate Been doin this for some years, y'all so late (so late!) Bangin OutKast and a little George Strait Hot damn, Colt Ford back with Bubba K [Chorus]
[Bubba Sparxxx] +

Colt Ford

E'rything real funny 'til the money come (and then what?) Now they want some (what) when they ain't wanted none (ohh) And that's just how the thing go when you get 'er done (how?) We did it son

y-yeah we did it son~!

We was drinkin Jim Beam by the handle (handle) Me and Steven heard they're loadin up ammo (ammo) Bumpin Goodie Mob, real tree camo (camo) This white boy really think he Rambo! (GO!) Cut the beat on, I bet his ass jam though You don't like it straight to hell is where you can go 12-pointer hangin right above the mantle You don't like the program? Change the channel (woo!)
[Chorus] [><]