Flatland Farmer
Lyrics Josh Abbott Band

Written by: Terry Allen

Produced by: Erik Herbst

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He's a flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
He's a flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
He don't make no money
But he can out-pick a Nashville star

Yeah the people come in pick-ups
They're drivin' in from miles around
Yeah the people come in pick-ups
They're drivin' in from miles around
They just park in his front yard and they sit on his ground
And they eat fried chicken to the flatland sound
Eat a little...

Well they call mighty Nashville, Music City U.S.A.
They call gawd-all-mighty Nashville, Music City, U.S.A.
Aw, but get out the city where the farmers play,
You're into real music country without them city ways.

Get with the flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
Get with the flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
And the closest you'll want to any music row
Is a long dirt furrow where the cotton grows, grow...

Get with the flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
Get with the flatland farmer who flatpicks an old guitar
He don't make no money... oh
I'll tell you that boy can out-sing
Out-pick, out-play
Out-drink, out-pray and out-lay
Any of them Nashville stars

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