D                                                              
This happens every time we step on stage,
D                                   A
They look at us like we have lost our minds,
D                             G
Then we go and break into that San Antonio Rose,
D                       A                 D
And they can't believe they're havin a good time,

D
Every time we hit a truck stop on the road,
D                                 A
They say you boys you must be in a band,
          D                               G
What kind of music do you play and we say country,
    D                   A                D
And there's that look like they don't understand,

They call us long haired, tattooed, hippie freaks,
   G                  
You know they ain't all wrong,
D    
You'd think they never saw a bad outlaw,
E               A
Singin a country song,
D
But if they'd close their eyes and open their ears,
G
And let the music speak,
D
They'd hear good old country music,
D            A               D
Not just long haired, tattooed freaks

D
So it's been some time since I cut this long-assed hair,
D                                       A
And my ragged looks don't fit in with this place,
D                                         G
Tattoo parlors, ain't we all spent time in there,
         D                A                D
We've got the scars that time just can't erase,

D 
But does anyone remember Johnny Paycheck,
D                                           A
Or Willie, Waylon, or the late and great Doug Sahm,
D                                           G
Yeah, all them clean cut boys they got in Nashville,     
        D                  A                D
Don't know a damn thing about where we're comin from.

Repeat Chorus:

I'm still the only hell my mama ever raised