Sangtekst: Drive By Truckers. Southern Rock Opera. The Southern Thing.

Ain't about my pistol
Ain't about my boots
Ain't about no northern drives
Ain't about my southern roots

Ain't about my guitars
Ain't about my big old amps
It ain't rained in weeks
But the weather sure feels damp

Ain't about excuses or alibis
Ain't about no cotton fields or cotton picking lies
Ain't about the races, the crying shame
To the fucking rich man all poor people look the same

Don't get me wrong, it just ain't right
I ain't too strong, but I ain't afraid to fight
If you want to live another day
Stay out the way of the southern thing

Ain't about no hatred better raise a glass
It's a little about some rebels but it ain't about the past
Ain't about no foolish pride, ain't about no flag
Hate's the only thing that my truck would want to drag

You think I'm dumb, maybe not too bright
You wonder how I sleep at night
Proud of the glory, stare down the shame
Duality of the southern thing

My great great granddad had a hole in his side
He used to tell the story to the family Christmas night
Got shot at Shiloh, thought he'd die alone
From a Yankee bullet, less than thirty miles from home

Ain't no plantations in my family tree
Did not believe in slavery, thought that all men should be free
But, who are these soldiers marching through my land?
His bride could hear the cannons and she worried about her man

I heard the story as it was passed down
About guts and glory and rebel stands
Four generations, a whole lot has changed
Robert E. Lee, Martin Luther King
We've come a long way rising from the flame
Stay out the way of the southern thing
Stay out the way of the southern thing
Stay out the way of the southern thing
Stay out the way of the southern thing