Lyrics

I was backwoods raised in cajun mud
Louisiana crude running through my blood
Running wild, screwing up
Nothing but trouble that's what I was
That's a part of me I still can't shake
A wild streak you can't wash away
Fighting, cussing, drinking
Lately, it's got me thinking

I'll always be a little too rough, a little too proud
I'll always say a little too much when I open my big mouth
I don't claim to be a saint, but if I die today
I'm ready to meet my maker
But I have to wonder is he ready to meet me?
Is he ready to meet me?

I've run red hot, gone stone cold
Been booked and printed, bought and sold
I've been on the wagon, fell off it
Drawn the line, then I crossed it
Took a bullet in my chest
Felt the thrill when it hit me I wasn't dead
So when I get to them Pearly Gates
St. Peter, get out of the way

I'll always be a little too rough, a little too proud
I'll always say a little too much when I open my big mouth
I don't claim to be a saint, but if I die today
I'm ready to meet my maker
But I have to wonder is he ready to meet me?
Is he ready to meet me?

'Cause I'll always be a little too rough, a little too proud
Yeah, I'll always say a little too much when I open my big mouth
I don't claim to be a saint, but if I die today
I'm be ready to meet my maker
But I have to wonder is he ready to meet me?
Is he ready to meet me?


© Will Hopkins / Claire Ulanoff / Ellen Britton