Whole song: ↓ · ↓ ↑ ↓ · ↓ ↑
[Verse 1]
G D Cadd9 G
My first rifle was a .243,
Em D Cadd9 G
Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me,
G D Cadd9 Em
And they taught me how to shoot with a steady hand,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 1-2]
G D Cadd9 G
Now I grew up on a prison farm,
Em D Cadd9 G
Sneaking pulls of shine from a mason jar,
G D Cadd9 Em
Used to go fishing out pickle creek dam,
Em D Cadd9 G
But I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Chorus]
Cadd9 G
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Cadd9 G D
Papas drunk past dawn;
Cadd9 G
We sit out on the front porch,
Em D Cadd9
Just a pickin' on the songs;
Cadd9 G
And there's blood on the table,
Cadd9 G D
Cause we work for what we have;
Em D Cadd9
And I was raised in this land,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 2]
G D Cadd9 G
I still fly that southern flag,
Em D Cadd9 G
Whislin dixie loud enough to brag.
G D Cadd9 Em
And I know all the words to simple man,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 2-2]
G D G
I pledge my allegiance the original way,
Em D Cadd9 G
Say Merry Christmas not happy holidays,
G D Cadd9 Em
I can't change my ways I know who I am,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Chorus]
Cadd9 G
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Cadd9 G D
Papas drunk past dawn;
Cadd9 G
We sit out on the front porch,
Em D Cadd9
Just a pickin' on the songs;
Cadd9 G
And there's blood on the table,
Cadd9 G D
Cause we work for what we have;
Em D Cadd9
And I was raised in this land,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Bridge]
Bb F
They'll grind us up in a big machine;
C G
They'll feed us all on the same beliefs,
Bb F
Holy dollar and a credit card;
C Bb F
But we got a way of doing things,
C G
And no bankers gonna steal from me;
D
They wanna tear it all apart.
[Chorus]
Cadd9 G
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Cadd9 G D
Papas drunk past dawn;
Cadd9 G
We sit out on the front porch,
Em D Cadd9
Just a pickin' on the songs;
Cadd9 G
And there's a bible on the table,
Cadd9 G D
Cause he bleed for what we have,
Em D Cadd9
And that's the ballad of a southern man,
Em D Cadd9 G
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Outro]
G D Cadd9 Em
My first rifle was a .243,
Em D Cadd9 G
Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me.
[Verse 1]
| G D | Cadd9 G | - - | - Em |
| D Cadd9 | G - | - - | G D |
| Cadd9 Em | - - | - Em | D Cadd9 |
| G - | - - |
My first rifle was a .243,
Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me,
And they taught me how to shoot with a steady hand,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 1-2]
| G D | Cadd9 G |
| - - | - Em | D Cadd9 | G - |
| - - | G D | Cadd9 Em | - - |
| - Em | D Cadd9 | G - | - - |
Now I grew up on a prison farm,
Sneaking pulls of shine from a mason jar,
Used to go fishing out pickle creek dam,
But I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Chorus]
| Cadd9 - | G - | Cadd9 G | D - |
| Cadd9 - | G - | Em D | Cadd9 - |
| Cadd9 - | G - | Cadd9 G | D - |
| Em D | Cadd9 - | - - | Em D |
| Cadd9 G | - - | -
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Papas drunk past dawn;
We sit out on the front porch,
Just a pickin' on the songs;
And there's blood on the table,
Cause we work for what we have;
And I was raised in this land,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 2]
G | D Cadd9 |
| G - | - - | Em D | Cadd9 G |
| - - | - G | D Cadd9 | Em - |
| - - | Em D | Cadd9 G | - - |
| -
I still fly that southern flag,
Whislin dixie loud enough to brag.
And I know all the words to simple man,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Verse 2-2]
G | D - | G - | - - |
| Em D | Cadd9 G | - - | - G |
| D Cadd9 | Em - | - - | Em D |
| Cadd9 G | - - | -
I pledge my allegiance the original way,
Say Merry Christmas not happy holidays,
I can't change my ways I know who I am,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Chorus]
Cadd9 | - G |
| - Cadd9 | G D | - Cadd9 | - G |
| - Em | D Cadd9 | - Cadd9 | - G |
| - Cadd9 | G D | - Em | D Cadd9 |
| - - | - Em | D Cadd9 | G - |
| - - |
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Papas drunk past dawn;
We sit out on the front porch,
Just a pickin' on the songs;
And there's blood on the table,
Cause we work for what we have;
And I was raised in this land,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Bridge]
| Bb | F | C |
| G | Bb | F | C |
| - | Bb | F | C |
| G | D | - | - |
| - |
They'll grind us up in a big machine;
They'll feed us all on the same beliefs,
Holy dollar and a credit card;
But we got a way of doing things,
And no bankers gonna steal from me;
They wanna tear it all apart.
[Chorus]
| Cadd9 - | G - | Cadd9 G |
| D - | Cadd9 - | G - | Em D |
| Cadd9 - | Cadd9 - | G - | Cadd9 G |
| D - | Em D | Cadd9 - | - - |
| Em D | Cadd9 G | - - | -
Grandmas in the kitchen;
Papas drunk past dawn;
We sit out on the front porch,
Just a pickin' on the songs;
And there's a bible on the table,
Cause he bleed for what we have,
And that's the ballad of a southern man,
I guess that's something you don't understand.
[Outro]
G |
| D Cadd9 | Em - | - - | Em D |
| Cadd9 G |
My first rifle was a .243,
Papa gave Daddy and Daddy gave to me.
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