In my view, rock n roll killed the country star right when
Long haired loons started smashing guitars up upon the stage
But I won't pretend that Ira Louvin didn't do the same
With a mandolin, oh, yeah, Satan is real and his name's
Rock 'n' roll my friends

But I swear to God, I won't let it fade
As long as I can play guitar and these three chords are
Drenched with the truth like mud on a boot
I'll keep walking the floor till there ain't no more
Rock 'n' roll bands on the internet

But first I gotta find a publisher
A distributor, someone to ensure that
My songs get heard a pro and a studio
To record a few demos before I hit the road
On a radio tour all across the land
Where the Djs and I act like we're famous friends
In hopes that they'll play my song some day
And keep rock n roll music off the airwaves

Cause if rock n roll killed the country star
I don't want to live in a world where George Jones
Is some second fiddle. Or Barbara Mandrell, well
She might as well never opened up that fontanel
If all anyone cares for are degenerate bands
In their tight leather pants and dumb leopard print
Where are the snappy dressers in sequined suits?
If no one steps up I'll be the one to do it

But first I gotta go to music row
Somehow book a show without any of my songs
On the radio. Then get a band a fifteen
Passenger van, and if my agent comes through
Maybe I'll get to pay them
(God tier whistling)