Текст (слова) песни: Terry Allen - Flatland Farmer
He`s a flatland farmer Who flatpicks and old guitar Yeah he`s a flatland farmer He flatpicks and old guitar He don`t make no money But he can out-pick them Nashville stars Yeah the people come in pick-ups They travel in from miles around Ahhh the people come in pick-ups They travel in from miles around Yeah they park in his front yard...sit on his ground An they eat fried chicken to that flatland sound Eat a little... Well they call mighty Nashville Music City USA Yeah they call that god-all-mighty Nashville Music City USA Ahhh but get out of the city to where the farmer plays An you`re into real music country without them city ways Get with the flatland farmer Who flatpicks an old guitar Get with the flatland farmer Who flatpicks an old guitar An closest you`ll want to any Music Row Is a long dirt furrow where cotton grows Grow... Get with the flatland farmer Who flatpicks an old guitar Yeah, get with the flatland farmer Who flatpicks an old guitar He don`t make no money...Awww But I`ll tell...that boy can Out sing Out pick Out play Out drink Out pray...and out lay Any of them Nashville stars
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