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