Tekster:
Morgan Craig My Kind Of Livin

-balin', pea-pickin' country Well, there's my mama in the rockin' chair by my screen door The red, white, and blue hangs off of my front porch There's my

palms down by the road That's how you know That's how you know, you're in my neighborhood In my neighborhood There's nothing ordinary 'bout the regular folk In my

Ol' Jimmy, a real hard worker Loadin' trucks at the Feed and Save Well-liked, a really nice fella And that's why it's hard to believe One day, two counties

It's 98 in the shade an' Mr. Rose is rollin' hay Eighty acres down an' ten to go Clouds are buildin' in the south, he knows time is runnin' out An' there

I can't see them They're watching over everything I do Ain't no easy street around the bend on my road No pot of gold at the end of my rainbow But I

I'm meetin' my buddies out on the lake We're headed out to a special place we love That just a few folks know There's no signin' up, no monthly dues

shes pony-tailed and shes halter topped her bumper sticker says "i hate hip hop" with a southern drawl, she says howdy y'all and her hands ain't afraid

had big dreams come true and I believe in Angels although I can't see them They're watching everything I do Ain't no easy street around the bend on my

His life is that blue bike, ball glove an' fishin' pole, Tree-house, baby gun and band aid covered knees. He does good deliverin' papers, An' cuttin