Chance Alan

Lyrics

Pump this crowd up
Hey time to get after it
Where are we headin’ to a countryfied (clubbin’) throw down

I come from torn worn-out jeans rusty trucks huntin’ bucks
Worn out boots couple a eights as in a twelve with tangs
Big ol bucks hundred fifty four weighing
Especially that eight pointer
Up at nine hand to mouth gettin’ by
Climbing a ladder
Bank account shit ain't gettin' fatter
Oh no matter I’m little low on fuel
Come from nothin’ too
Never woulda thought I'd be countryfied clubbin’ with you

Now she’s a nine not a ten
Get to take her for a two-steppin’ twirling
Ain’t no shuffleboard just horseshoes and poles
Thats our redneck tennis court
Oh that’s how we roll
Parkin’ lot schmoozie truck bed boogie
Damn she’s sure purty
Ain’t no fancy-schmancy just a bottle of beer
Thinkin’ hell-yeahs I’m cool at rubbin’ arms bar
First-class elbow rubbin’ that’s who we are
Throwin’ money round like it ain’t no dadgum thang
A pasture smellin’ party John Deere limousine parkin by
Back-porch is our putting green

I’m da Chief of Staff look at me double-fistin’
Who’s cowgirl on his arm
Heiress too hedgehog fund
Back-woods billionaire you see
Ain’t no doctors of toxicology
Ain’t no lawyers just laws of nature
Ain’t no oil money except on my workin’ hands
But there be mayors of the bar
Shit my brother JD writin’ checks his mouth won’t cash
Drafty chillin’ beer thrummin’
Never woulda thought I'd be countryfied clubbin’
Throw down in this small town with just you and me