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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Blake Shelton
Lead Vocals
Bryan Sutton
Acoustic Guitar
Perry Coleman
Background Vocals
Jimmie Lee Sloas
Bass Guitar
Carole Rabinowitz
Cello
Craig Wiseman
Electric Guitar
Greg Morrow
Drums
Brent Mason
Electric Guitar
Gordon Mote
Piano
Jennifer Zuffinetti
Background Vocals
Tom Bukovac
Electric Guitar
Troy Lancaster
Electric Guitar
Aubrey Haynie
Fiddle
Paul Franklin
Pedal Steel Guitar
Eric Darken
Percussion
Ron Sorbo
Steel Drum
Charlie Judge
Synthesiser
Betsy Lamb
Viola
Connie Ellisor
Violin
Pam Sixfin
Violin
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Dallas Davidson
Songwriter
Jon Stone
Songwriter
Rhett Akins
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Scott Hendricks
Producer
Steve Marcantonio
Recording Engineer
Drew Bollman
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Allen Parker
Assistant Engineer
Jacob Murray
Assistant Engineer
Nick Spezia
Assistant Engineer
Steph Dufresne
Assistant Engineer
Steve Blackmon
Assistant Engineer
Steve Crowder
Assistant Engineer
Todd Tidwell
Assistant Engineer
Tre Nagella
Assistant Engineer
Brian David Willis
Editing Engineer
Hank Williams
Mastering Engineer
Justin Niebank
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
Tearin' down a dirt road, rebel flag flyin'
Coon dog in the back
Truck bed loaded down with beer
And a cold one in my lap
Earnhardt sticker behind my head
And my woman by my side
Tail-pipe's poppin'
The radio's rockin' "Country Boy Can Survive"
If you got a problem with that, ha, ha
You can kiss my country ass
Well, I love turkey calls, overalls, Wrangler jeans
Smoke nothin' but Marlboro Reds
Tattoos up and down my arms
And deer heads over my bed
Well my granddaddy fought in World War II
But my daddy went to Vietnam
And I ain't scared to grab my gun
And fight for my homeland
If you don't love the American flag
Well, you can kiss my country ass
If you're a down-home, backwoods redneck
Hey come on, stand up, and raise your glass
But if you ain't down with my outlaw crowd
You can kiss my country ass
Aw, yeah
Aw, yeah
Well, there's a whole lotta high-class people out there
That's a-lookin' down on me
'Cause the country club where I belong
Is a honky tonk till three in the mornin'
Don't wear no fancy clothes, no ties or three piece suits
You can find me in my camouflage cap
My T-shirt and cowboy boots
If that don't fit your social class
You can kiss my country ass
If you're a down-home, backwoods redneck
Hey come on, stand up, and raise your glass
But if you ain't down with my outlaw crowd
You can kiss my country ass
Well, I'm a front-porch sittin', guitar pickin'
Moonshine sippin'
Backer chew spittin' country boy from the woods
And I love fried chicken and blue gill fishin'
And outlaw women, and I wouldn't change if I could, no
I ain't tryin' to start no fight, but I'll finish one every time
So you just mind your own damn business
Stay the hell outta mine
If you got a problem with that
Well, you can kiss my country ass
I said, if you got a problem with any of that
You can kiss my natural born
Redneck to the bone
Ever lovin' country ass
That's right
Writer(s): Rhett Akins, Jonathan Stone, Dall Davidson
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