Charlie Daniels
Southern Boy

I'm a southern boy
Southern born and bred
I've got Sweet Home Alabama buzzing all around in my head
I'm right at home in Georgia or down in Caroline
Yeah I'd be happy anywhere below that Mason-Dixon line

A working and a sweating 'til I hear that whistle blow
Country rock a cooking on my pick-up radio
I rush home for a shower and put on my dancing shoes
I get the Friday fever and the Sunday morning blues

I'm a southern boy
I like a rowdy crowd
Put Bocephus on the jukebox and turn that sucker way up loud
Don't need a reservation
We're just a-having fun
Yeah it's party time in Dixie
Ya'll just come on down and get ya some

From Rockingham to Birmingham
Mobile to New Orleans
Jacksonville to Copper Hill
Pike to Bowling Green
Layfayette to Somerset
Boone to Rocky Mount
If you don't live in Dixie then
You're only camping out

I'm a southern boy
I say my sirs and m'ams
I'm kinda rough around the edges but I'm mighty proud of who I am
Roll on Mississippi rock on Tennessee
If it was good enough for Elvis you know it's good enough for me

I said, if it was good enough for Elvis you know it's good enough for me
Well if the King was crazy 'bout it then you know it's good enough for me 

Charlie Daniels
Uneasy Rider

I was takin' a trip out to LA
Toolin' along in my Chevrolet
Tokin' on a number and diggin' on the radio...
Just as I crossed the Mississippi line
I heard that highway start to whine
And I knew that left rear tire was about to go

Well, the spare was flat and I got uptight
'Cause there wasn't a fillin' station in sight
So I just limped on down the shoulder on the rim 
I went as far as I could and when I stopped the car
It was right in front of this little bar
Kind of redneck lookin' joint, called the Dew Drop Inn

Well, I stuffed my hair up under my hat
And told the bartender that I had a flat
And would he be kind enough to give me change for a one
There was one thing I was sure proud to see
There wasn't a soul in the place, 'cept for him and me
And he just looked disgusted and pointed toward the telephone

I called up the station down the road a ways
And he said he wasn't very busy today
And he could have somebody there in just 'bout ten minutes or so
He said now you just stay right where you're at 
And I didn't bother tellin' the durn fool
I sure as hell didn't have anyplace else to go

I just ordered up a beer and sat down at the bar
When some guy walked in and said; 'Who owns this car?
With the peace sign, the mag wheels and four on the floor?'
Well, he looked at me and I damn near died
And I decided that I'd just wait outside
So I layed a dollar on the bar and headed for the door

Just when I thought I'd get outta there with my skin
These five big dudes come strollin' in
With this one old drunk chick and some fella with green teeth
And I was almost to the door when the biggest one said: 
'You tip your hat to this lady, son'
And when I did all that hair fell out from underneath

Now the last thing I wanted was to get into a fight
In Jackson, Mississippi on a Saturday night
'Specially when there was three of them and only one of me
They all started laughin' and I felt kinda sick
And I knew I'd better think of somethin' pretty quick
So I just reached out and kicked old green-teeth right in the knee

He let out a yell that'd curl your hair
But before he could move, I grabbed me a chair
And said: 'Watch him folks, 'cause he's a thoroughly dangerous man
Well, you may not know it, but this man's a spy
He's an undercover agent for the FBI
And he's been sent down here to infiltrate the Ku Klux Klan'

He was still bent over, holdin' on to his knee
But everyone else was lookin' and listenin' to me
And I layed it on thicker and heavier as I went
I said: 'Would you believe this man has gone as far
As tearin' Wallace stickers off the bumpers of cars
And he voted for George McGovern for President'

'He's a friend of them long-haired, hippie type, pinko fags
I betcha he's even got a Commie flag
Tacked up on the wall, inside of his garage
He's a snake in the grass, I tell ya guys
He may look dumb, but that's just a disguise
He's a mastermind in the ways of espionage'

They all started lookin' real suspicious at him
And he jumped up an' said: 'Now, just wait a minute, Jim
You know he's lyin' I've been livin' here all of my life
I'm a faithful follower of Brother John Birch
And I belong to the Antioch Baptist Church
And I ain't even got a garage, you can call home and ask my wife'

Then he started sayin' somethin' 'bout the way I was dressed
But I didn't wait around to hear the rest
I was too busy movin' and hopin' I didn't run outta luck
And when I hit the ground, I was makin' tracks
And they were just takin' my car down off the jacks
So I threw the man a twenty an' jumped in an' fired that mother up

Mario Andretti woulda sure been proud
Of the way I was movin' when I passed that crowd
Comin' out the door and headin' toward me in a trot
And I guess I should-a gone ahead and run
But somehow I couldn't resist the fun
Of chasin' them all just once around the parkin' lot

Well, they're headin' for their car, but I hit the gas
And spun around and headed them off at the pass
I was slingin' gravel and puttin' a ton of dust in the air
Ha Ha, well, I had 'em all out there steppin' and fetchin'
Like their heads were on fire and their asses was catchin'
But I figured I oughta go ahead an split before the cops got there

When I hit the road I was really wheelin'
Had gravel flyin' and rubber squealin'
And I didn't slow down 'til I was almost to Arkansas 
Well, I think I'm gonna re-route my trip
I wonder if anybody'd think I'd flipped
If I went to LA...via Omaha

As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man,
I have chalked up many a mile.
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks,
And I've learned much from both of their styles.

Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun; load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer.

Now away in the near future, southeast of disorder,
You can shake the hand of the mango man
As he greets you at the border.

And the lady she hails from Trinidad,
Island of the spices. 
Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet,
And the rum is for all your good vices.

Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our
Forefathers harnessed before us.
Hear the bells ring as the tide rigging sings.
It's a son of a gun of a chorus.

Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends.
If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.
So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs,
Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker.

But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer
I'm just a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor
The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains.
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer.