Blue Collar, Redneck Greenbacks
I get paid like grandpa did; the handshake’s where the money’s hid.
A good week’s pay for a good week’s work ain’t funny.
It’s honest work and I work hard. No need for a credit card.
Everything I got I bought with money.
Blue collar, redneck, greenback dollars
Keep me and my baby in the black.
Hey relax, I pay a little tax
on blue collar, redneck greenbacks.
Me and the IRS, we don’t see eye to eye I guess.
They try to stare me down, but I ain’t blinkin’.
Now and then I throw them a bone, but I keep all the meat at home.
They sniff around but my lean cuts ain’t stinkin’.
Cold, hard cash or ice-cold beer, I get from the same place here;
My refrigerator doubles as my ATM.
There’s no limit on withdrawals. I got enough for all y’alls.
What’s mine is yours is all I’ve got to say to them.
My castle’s where I keep my gold. My change is loose. It ain’t rolled.
The sock drawer’s where I do most of my bankin’.
I got no cheques so they can’t bounce, no stocks, bonds, or offshore accounts,
just Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Grant, and Franklin.
I don’t trust the banking man. My beans are in a coffee can.
I don’t mind the grind. The living’s finer.
The places where I recreate, I try not to complicate:
There’s a ballpark, there’s a bar, and there’s a diner.
© Audsongs 2015