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NOT TODAY Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 Found out my woman been sneakin’ around Found her a new man from somewhere outta town laughin' behind my back, like I was a joke But I got the last laugh, and I aint just blowin' smoke... Every dog’s gonna have his day Then there's gonna be hell to pay Too many times, the bad guy gets away Oh... Not Today Got me a shotgun and my brother’s boat Cement blocks and a loggin' chain, so he don't float Good night for fishin', the water's still and black Two of us are goin’; only one’ll be comin’ back Everydog’s gonna have his day Then there's gonna be hell to pay Too many times, the bad guy gets away Oh... Not today Been four years since he went down Nobody dragged the river. Nobody asked around. Guess she don’t miss him, never shed a tear. It’s a helluva story, nobody’s ever gonna hear. Everydog’s gonna have his day Then there's gonna be hell to pay Too many times, the bad guy gets away Oh... Not Today Aint no witness, Aint no crime. Me and my woman Been doin’ fine… LIVIN' PROOF Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Benny Huntt © 2009 Tonight I’m drinkin’ to the past, And all the coins that we’ve cast into the wishin’ well. If I could do it all again, I’d still throw caution to the wind, Just to have the stories to tell. Old Friend of mine, We get better with time. God as my witness, that’s the truth. Like the whiskey in my glass, Seasoned by the years that pass. Here’s to me, Here’s to you... We’re the Livin’ Proof There just aint no way, I should still be here today. Guess God is watchin’ over fools. It’s been a long, windin’ road, And I’ve paid the dues and debts I owed, But I wouldn’t have made it without you… Old Friend of mine, You get better with time. God as my witness, that’s the truth. Like the whiskey in my glass, Seasoned by the years that pass. Here’s to me, Here’s to you... We’re the Livin’ Proof OLD FASHIONED ASS WHOOPIN' SUM BITCH Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill, Benny Huntt © 2009 Granddaddy was a hell raiser first class. A fist-fightin’, bar-brawlin’ kicker of ass. Unwanted, half-breed, illegitimate son Of a hard-drinkin’, rail road workin’ son of a gun Who always stood his ground, and never backed down… He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch. If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich! Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch. Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch My daddy was a chip off the old block. A blue-collared, hard-nosed puncher of clock From the rough side of town to the jungles of Nam The son of a son of a street fightin’ man Who always stood his ground, and never backed down… He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch. If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich! Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch. Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch The apple never falls that far from the tree. Three generations of hell before me. Roots run deep when the soil is rich. I’m the son of a son of a son of a sumbitch! He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch. If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich! Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch. Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch WHISKEY TALKIN' Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill, Benny Huntt © 2009 Old Number 7 runnin’ through my veins I got a shine on, feelin’ no pain. I’m better lookin’ when I’ve had a few. Women can’t resist me, what the hell can I do? Easy brother, no need to get tense, I’ll take the fifth for my defense… That was the whiskey talkin’ That was the whiskey talkin’ That was the whiskey talkin’ Leave me be, can’t you see That’s just the whiskey in me! Time to go home, but I’ll have one more With one eye closed, I stumble out the door I drank so much the oughta give me the bar I found my keys. Where the hell is my car? Disturbing the peace when the police arrived. I was kiddin’ when I said, “you’ll never take me alive!” That was the whiskey talkin’ That was the whiskey talkin’ That was the whiskey talkin’ Leave me be, can’t you see That’s just the whiskey in me! BROTHER'S KEEPER Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 Don’t take no wise man to see We got some problems in “the land of the free” I aint no preacher, but I know what’s right Too many children go to bed hungry at night… What about your brother? What about each other? We’re ‘bout to smother The one thing that we need in life What about your brother? Love one another! Then you’ll discover We need each other to survive. So many young lives are lost. Livin’ free comes at a high cost. Go ahead and protest, call Uncle Sam names, While soldiers die for your right to complain… What about your brother? What about each other? We’re ‘bout to smother The one thing that we need in life What about your brother? Love one another! Then you’ll discover We need each other to survive. |
BLOOD FROM A STONE Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill & Benny Huntt © 2009 Four in the mornin’ Here you come Knockin’ on my front door Tears in your eyes You’re tellin’ me The same old lies I’ve heard before Aint nothin’ left when the feeling’s all gone You can’t get blood from a stone. I tried to love you, Lord knows I tried, But you never could be true. It was a hard Lesson I learned, But now I’m finally over you… Aint nothin’ left when the feeling’s all gone You can’t get blood from a stone. Save all your lies For somebody else Goodbye is all I’m gonna say Guess now you see What you had in me And you just threw good love away… Aint nothin’ left when the feeling’s all gone You can’t get blood from a stone. TRACTOR PULL Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 She gets traction like a 4x4 Hauls my load and comes right back for more Lovin’ her aint no Sunday drive Buckle up! It’s one hell of a ride! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! She just loves to pull my chain Red lined between pleasure and pain Burnin’ rubber as the pistons bang! Strap her up! She’s ready to ride again! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! Tractor Pull! HOMEGROWN HOEDOWN Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 There’s a party in the sticks you don’t wanna miss! Boys, it don’t get no better than this! Beer by the case, shine by the still Don’t be shy son, drink your fill. Homegrown goodness from Uncle Jake Pass it around till we all get baked! Homegrown Hoedown! We’re gonna party till the cows come home. Homegrown Hoedown! When it comes to fun, we grow our own. Gonna make a liquor run to the county line. No need to hurry, cause we got time. The band won’t play a note till ten Everybody gonna be Zeked by then! Jenny’s gonna bring Mary Lou. Aint no tellin’ what them girls will do… Homegrown Hoedown! We’re gonna party till the cows come home. Homegrown Hoedown! When it comes to fun we grow our own. Jenny’s gonna bring Mary Lou. Aint no tellin’ what them girls will do. When they start dancin’ up a storm What happens on the farm, stays on the farm! SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 I was born and raised some hell in a small Carolina town. Where everybody knows your name, and word always gets around. I couldn’t wait to leave that place for the big city lights. Chasin’ dreams down the interstate; I had to roll the dice. But home was never far from my mind, Lord, I miss those simple times… I need a shot of something to set my mind at ease. I need some southern hospitality. Front porch sittin’ just shootin’ the breeze. I need some southern hospitality. I played every honky tonk from New York to L.A. I got a thousand tales to tell bout the times along the way Years and miles wear you down, Lord, I’ve paid the price, Been all over God’s green earth, searchin’ for paradise. And it was there all along, Lord, I just wanna go back home! I need a shot of something to set my mind at ease. I need some southern hospitality. Front porch sittin’ just shootin’ the breeze. I need some southern hospitality. MOTHER TO BED Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle Music by Marty Hill © 2009 Everytime I cross a railroad track, I wanna hop a train and never look back. Every time I see a bird in the sky, I just wish I could fly, fly, fly, I don’t wanna fight with you no more. Nobody ever wins, I’m tired of keepin’ score… It aint all black, It aint all white, And me bein’ wrong Don’t make you right. Talk, Talk, Talk, nothin’s ever getting’ said. It’s time we put this mother to bed! Every time you roll your eyes at me. I wanna find a rope and a big oak tree. Every time you bitch at me non-stop, I wanna jump off a mountain top… I don’t wanna stay up all night long, Nobody’s always right, but you’re never wrong… It aint all black, It aint all white, And me bein’ wrong Don’t make you right. Talk, Talk, Talk, nothin’ ever gets said. It’s time we put this mother to bed! |