You Can Tell a Man by His Truck - JJ Lawhorn

Red clay mud caked up on the door,

Twelve gauge buckshot rollin' in the floorboard.

Turkey feather flappin' up in the visor,

Every Friday night she’s a dirt road rider.

You can tell a man by his truck,

F one fifty painted on the fender.

Gun rack rattling in the window,

You can tell a man by his truck.

It’s got scratches and dents, just like him.

Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling.

You can tell a man by his truck, yes uh.

Backwoods baby sittin' in the front,

She likes the way it rumbles and rides a little rough.

Hah, yeah she does.

Tearin' up a corn field, bustin' through a rut.

My baby’s screamin', «faster,"she can’t get enough.

You can tell a man by his truck,

F one fifty painted on the fender.

Gun rack rattling in the window,

You can tell a man by his truck.

It’s got scratches and dents, just like him.

Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling.

You can tell a man by his truck, yes uh.

Plays horse, ball caps, sliding cross the dance floor,

Boot check in the back, parking up a storm.

You can tell a man by his truck,

F one fifty painted on the fender.

Gun rack rattling in the window,

You can tell a man by his truck.

It’s got scratches and dents, just like him.

Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling.

You can tell a man by his truck.

Oh man, you can tell a man by his truck.