Boiled peanuts anytime, painted on a plywood sign

Pull to the shoulder and buy a sack

An old man with a dirty face swears they're the best you'll taste

Grows 'em fresh in that red dirt field out back, yeah, that's a fact



Grace is a mechanic's wife and their toe-head boys are her whole life

Sews patches on blue jeans night and day

Never does much for herself, doesn't dream of fame or wealth

Just a ballpark bleacher and a place to pray



Some are called to preach the gospel, string fence in Colorado

Some are born to raise a family

Swing a hammer at a nail, haul bricks or carry mail

Go to college, Duke or Yale, but me

I got songs for sale



There's not a lot of tread on my tires, In some spots you can see the wires

Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
Just hope they make it to the next town so I can sing

I'm still learning lots of lessons, I'm still calling it a profession

Travelin' 'round strummin' these guitar strings



Some are good at mending bones, fixing drinks and telephones

Some are born to wear pin stripes on their sleeves

Swing a hammer at a nail, haul bricks or carry mail

Go to college, Duke or Yale, but me

I got songs for sale



I see it in a lot of places

I read it in a lot of faces



Some are called to preach the gospel, string fence in Colorado

Some are born to raise a family

Swing a hammer at a nail, haul bricks or carry mail

Go to college, Duke or Yale, and me

Yeah me, I got songs for sale

Yeah, I got songs for sale

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