| C | D | G | |
| Country DJ's | knows that I'm an | outlaw. |
| G | C | |
| They'd never come to see me in this | dive. |
| C | G | D/F# | Em | |
| Where bikers stare at cowboys who are | laughen' | at the | hippies. |
| Am | D | |
| Who are | prayen' they'll get out of her | alive. |
| C | D | G | |
| The | loud mouth in the | corners gett'en | to me. |
| G | C | |
| Talking about my earrings and my | hair. |
| C | G | D/F# | Em | |
| I guess he aint read the sign that | says I've | been to | prison. |
| Am | D | |
| Someone aught to warn him, before I | knock him off his chair. |
| C | D | G | |
| Cause my | long hair just can't | cover up my | redneck. |
| G | C | |
| I've won every fight I've ever | faught. |
| C | G | D/F# | Em | |
| And I don't need some turkey telling | me that I | ain't | country. |
| Am | D | |
| Say'en I aint worth a damn on, | ticket that he bought. |
| Chorus: |
| G | C | |
| Cause I | can sing all those songs about | Texas, |
| D | G | D | |
| And I still do all the sad one's that I | know. |
| G | C | |
| They | tell me, I look like Merle | Haggard, |
| Am | D | |
| And | sound alot like David Allen | Coe. |