| I’ve always been a religious man
|
| I’ve always been a religious man
|
| But I met the banker and it felt like sin
|
| He turned my bailout down
|
| The banker man lit into me
|
| Lit into me, lit into me
|
| The banker man lit into me
|
| And spread my name around
|
| He thinks I ain’t got a lick of sense
|
| 'Cause I talk slow and my money’s spent
|
| I ain’t the type to hold it against
|
| But he better stay off my farm
|
| Cause it was my daddy’s and his daddy’s before
|
| And his daddy’s before and his daddy’s before
|
| Five generations of an unlocked door
|
| And a loaded burglar alarm
|
| Lots of pictures of my purdy family
|
| Lots of pictures of my purdy family
|
| Lots of pictures of my purdy family
|
| In the house where we was born
|
| House has stood through five tornadoes
|
| Droughts and floods and five tornadoes
|
| I’d rather wrastle an alligator
|
| Than to face the banker’s scorn
|
| 'Cause he won’t even look me in the eye
|
| He just takes my land and apologize
|
| With pen, paper, and a friendly smile
|
| He says the deed is done
|
| The sound you hear is my daddy spinning
|
| The sound you hear is my daddy spinning
|
| The sound you hear is my daddy spinning
|
| Over what the banker done
|
| Like to invite him for some pot roast beef
|
| And mashed potatoes and sweet tea
|
| Follow it up with some 'nana pudding
|
| And a walk around the farm
|
| Show him the view from McGee Town Hill
|
| Let him stand in my place and see how it feels
|
| To lose the last thing on earth that’s real
|
| I’d rather lose my legs and arms
|
| Bury his body in the old sink hole
|
| Bury his body in the old sink hole
|
| Bury his body in the old sink hole
|
| Under cold November skies
|
| Then damned if I wouldn’t go to church on Sunday
|
| Damned if I wouldn’t go to church on Sunday
|
| Damned if I wouldn’t go to church on Sunday
|
| Look the preacher in the eye |