| I’m gonna find me a big truck |
| And drink a beer from a bottle |
| Buy a house down in Nashville |
| and some boots that I can model |
| I’ll get a five gallon black hat |
| And a big belt buckle |
| A shotgun and gun rack |
| And some scars on my knuckles |
| I’m gonna write a country song |
| and it won’t be long 'til I’m on the radio |
| And when it goes to number one |
| Gonna fake the fun like a clown in a rodeo |
| I’m gonna buy me an old farm |
| and sell the house in the city |
| Turn on my Southern charm |
| And if it’s fake, ain’t it a pity? |
| I’ll talk with an accent |
| and play guitar with an old twang |
| Spray on some chaps scent |
| and get the bucks for my big bang |
| I’m gonna write a country song |
| and it won’t be long 'til I’m on the radio |
| And when it goes to number one |
| Gonna fake the fun like a clown in a rodeo |
| Radio |
| Radio |
| Radio |
| Radio |