Never been much of a go out party crowd drinker
More of a sit alone on a creek bank sunset thinker
Little more lovin than leavin
Little more find the real thing it just ain't singing
I'm a little more lyric than I am rhythm
Little more tree stand prayer than back pew pretending
Little less grudge and a lot more forgiving
Little less talk and a lot more listen
Maybe I'm just old fashioned
Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth
Maybe I'm just an old has been
Who got it all wrong
Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting
For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep
And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed.
Now I ain't much of a sit around hand out taker
More of a bust my ass for a ring and a dream
On a couple of acres.
With a little more dirt than pavement
Holding her hand growing old on the front porch
Swinging.
I don't think there's a damn thing wrong with that.
Maybe I'm just old fashioned
Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth
Maybe I'm just an old has been
Who got it all wrong
Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting
For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep
And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed.
Maybe I'm just old fashioned
Maybe I'm cut from a different cloth
Maybe I'm just an old has been
Who got it all wrong
Maybe the whole damn worlds just a waiting
For me and my kind to kill off and go six feet deep
And once and for all, finally be short of this dying breed.
Short of this dying breed.
I'm a little more lyric than I am rhythm.
Little more tree stand prayer than back pew pretending...