Lyrics

Sittin’ on front porch swing 
She doesn’t say a thing 
I was out too late last night 
Bar fight, a back room fling  

Hony tonks and pickin’ guitars 
A fiddle player, a broken tip jar  
We belong, to the stripes and lone star 
We belong, in a little country song

  I lit out as bullets passed 
Right through my lucky hat 
Then I hit the ground face down 
Oh yeah, she shot my ass  

Hony tonks and pickin’ guitars 
A fiddle player, a broken tip jar  
We belong, to the stripes and lone star 
We belong, in a little country song

We belong, we belong, in a little country song