I came from dirt roads,
From blue jeans and mud stains
With the old southern creek water rich in my blood veins.
I can still hear the sound of shot guns echoing in the south,
and the taste of fresh peaches still rest in my mouth.
Everything was colder when you drank from glass jars,
and the nights were more peaceful sitting under the stars.
I'm from old rusty trucks,
from tackle boxes and poles.
From knee deep fresh waters, and fish kissing your toes.
From lightning bugs sparkling in every single tree.
From them ole' pesky fruit flies laying claims to your tea.
I'm from barefoot walks to that old weeping willow.
From late sunset watching all alone with the scarecrow.
From mason jars with corn filled all the way to the top.
From the lullaby of a tin roof catching every rain drop.
I'm from the hills.
From the gravel and mud.
and I will always say proudly, that "This is all in my blood"

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