Listening to the sound of the midnight train as I laid in bed,
my alarm clock is the call of a Rhone Island Red.
Wearing my boots everyday,
not caring what city people say.
Rolling in my truck blasting Hank,
hoping the cops won't break my bank.
Building fire to light up the cool dark woods,
something you'll never see in the city hoods.
Writing poems by days hunting coyotes by night,
Shooting our guns cause it's our natural born right.
Living the country life by the grace of god,
wouldn't trade it any hot rod.
I'm country till the day I die,
and I'll leave this world with a rebel cry.
Maverick Jones's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Born Country by Maverick Jones )
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