You Can Tell a Man by His Truck

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.