Текст пісні
Put this truck on a four-lane highway
It'll crank that crackled FM
Put these old boots on some blacktop
They'll still find where it ends
City folk don't know what they're missing
Hell, I know what they need
A twenty-four pack, little PTO
Spent with a zip-cool by a creek
Yeah, that high rise is where you make money
And money don't grow on trees
To keep that coffee can stash stacked
I still gotta bust out a fifty-hour week
Just 'cause it's where I swing my hammer
Don't mean it's where I wanna be
Yeah, you can put this old southern boy up in the city
I still bring a little small town with me
Yeah, them mornings they come early
That's why my coffee comes black
At lunchtime it's fried baloney
And some pork rinds in a brown sack
I might come off a little different
But I ain't a tumbleweed
'Cause when I punch that clock I'm headed to a map-dot
With some good old boys like me
Yeah, that high rise is where you make money
And money don't grow on trees
To keep that coffee can stash stacked
I still gotta bust out a fifty-hour week
Just 'cause it's where I swing my hammer
Don't mean it's where I wanna be
Yeah, you can put this old southern boy up in the city
I still bring a little small town with me
Ah, yeah
Yeah, that high rise is where you make money
And money don't grow on trees
To keep that coffee can stash stacked
I still gotta bust out a fifty-hour week
Just 'cause it's where I swing my hammer
Don't mean it's where I wanna be
Yeah, you can put this old southern boy up in the city
I still bring a little small town with me