She's pony-tailed an' she's halter topped:
Her bumper-sticker says: "I hate hip-hop"
With a southern drawl, she says: "Howdy, y'all,"
And her hands ain't afraid of dirt
He's proud of his old truck:
He spray painted over dents and rust
The motor smokes, it's got four bald tires,
But the radio works
Raised on the Good Book and our country songs,
Ridin' down back roads an' singin' along:

So blame me for the way they are,
Their love of the fiddle and the steel guitar
Blame me for their cowboy hats,
Roper boots, Wrangler jeans, and rifle racks
If you wanna point a finger at somebody,
For the way they believe,
Blame me

They were kids when Hag and me came to town:
All eyes and ears: look at 'em now
Center stage on the Grand Ole Opry,
On a Saturday night
Sing of fishin' and the Lord above,
Fallin' in and out of love
From Aunt Bea to Uncle Sam,
And that American Pie
From big cities to the little towns
Were hard-core country inside and out

So blame me for the way they are,
Their love of the fiddle and the steel guitar
Blame me for their cowboy hats,
Roper boots, Wrangler jeans, and rifle racks
If you wanna point a finger at somebody,
For the way they believe,
Blame me

Blame me for the way they are,
Their love of the fiddle and the steel guitar
Blame me for their cowboy hats,
Roper boots, Wrangler jeans, and rifle racks
If you wanna point a finger at somebody,
For the way believe,
Blame me
Blame me
Blame me, yeah