He killed what he ate and brewed what he drank
Listened to Colt, Jerry, Reid, and Hank
A bear of a man, hardly left the woods
Six foot four, solid rock when he stood
He'd hunt with a hatchet and his own bare hands
Refused welfare, only lived off the land
Drove an 87 Dodge, straight pipes off the back
Stocked his house with white-tail racks
He's a rebel, a redneck, grew up in the sticks
A standard American son'bitch
His shirt says Ralph but his real name's Fred
Got grease on his hands and sweat on his head
Pants are black and arms are scarred
Knuckles more busted than his credit card
Spends weekdays working under the hood
Got mouths to feed and he knows he should
Come Friday at five he'll collect that pay
And top it off with a cold one at the end of the day
He's blue-collar, a sinner, I can't decide which
A standard American son'bitch
He drives a Peterbilt with eighteen wheels
The ICC hot on his heels
Running them roads since age eighteen
Ain't a city limit sign that he hasn't seen
Grinding them gears, heading down the line
He's a slave to the law, the law and time
Make it home for two-day's sleep
Then it's back to his cockpit and Air Ride seat
He's a driver, a highway man
Loves his woman and two kids
A standard American son'bitch
He ain't heard too good since 67
Flew a chopper named The Stairway To Heaven
Got an M16, hacks up black tar
Vietnam plates on the back of his car
He don't talk too much and he don't waste words
When he does you damn sure better know he's heard
A ponytail, little thin up top
Rolls his own for ten cents a pop
He's a soldier, a veteran, beat up a bit
A standard American son'bitch
You can call me a redneck, call me a hick
Say I'm a drunk, messed up just a bit
But the flag I fly's got the stars and stripes
Test my freedom, I'll be down for a fight
We're the backbone, blue collar
Working, trying to earn a dollar
Hurt somebody, feeds our kids
Standard American son'bitch