Country livin’, it tastes so good.
Biscuits and gravy, cooked over wood.
Wouldn’t pick the embers out if I could.
Country livin’, it tastes so good.

My grandaddy, he liked to play with cards.
He drank Budweiser and he drove fast cars.
He had one eye and a crooked leg.
He ran the roads with a foot of lead.
He made us biscuits and homemade soup.
And he died doin’ what he wanted to.

Country livin’, it tastes so good.
Biscuits and gravy, cooked over wood.
Wouldn’t pick the embers out if I could.
Country livin’, it tastes so good.

Learned to drive when I was just thirteen.
An old Chevy, with three on the tree.
My daddy took me into our back field.
I dumped the clutch and started steerin’ the wheel.
It was that same year that I went to work–
Drivin’ nails and shovelin’ dirt.

Country livin’, it tastes so good.
Biscuits and gravy, cooked over wood.
Wouldn’t pick the embers out if I could.
Country livin’, it tastes so good.

When I was a boy, I used to play guitar.
An old Roy Rogers that was fallin’ apart.
It had five strings and not a one in tune.
It made no difference, I still felt cool.
Then every Sunday, we went to church.
And every Monday, it was back to work.

Country livin’, it tastes so good.
Biscuits and gravy, cooked over wood.
Wouldn’t pick the embers out if I could.
Country livin’, it tastes so good.