The neighbor’s radio was loud and playing rap
He turned the dial just to hear some other crap
All that rock stuff makes me want to grab a Bud
Only Nashville music gets into my blood

(chorus 1)

Singin’ ’bout
Waitresses and wastrels and a dog named Blue
Shotgun totin’ sheriffs and a big tattoo
Set me pickup radio to Country 92
Listen for the song about a dog named Blue


If the song ain’t country it ain’t worth a look
Poetry by amateurs without a hook
Sad, artistic wannabes with uncombed hair
Spewing all that emo stuff into the air

(chorus 2)
Let me hear
Waitresses and wastrels and a dog named Blue
Jukeboxes and whiskey and a beer or two
I like country music, and so should you
Here’s the one I like about a dog named Blue


I got a heart as big as my backyard
I got a mind I hold in high regard
I’m sitting home, but I got a lot of guts
And unfamiliar music drives me absolutely nuts


My home’s in old Kentucky, I got Georgia on my mind
Got the stars and bars tattooed on my behind
I’ve been a Republican since Richard Nixon
God bless everything below the Mason-Dixon

(chorus 3)

God bless
Waitresses and wastrels and a dog named Blue
Kitchenettes and cutoffs and some barbecue
It’s the only style that’s real and true
Play that country music (white boy) (ooo-ooo)
Play that country music
About that good for nothing yellow

I like country well enough, and have written a few country lyrics. There’s an attitude in some corners of country that it’s "real" music for "real" people, and other forms of music are just amateur poetry that doesn’t mean squat.

(To be fair, this attitude probably crops up in every genre)

This song is about country, and the song both loves and hates the genre. Hopefully, there’s real affection in the ribbing.

crumpled paper