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Old man knocked on my front door |
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And my teenage boy and a couple more from up the road |
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He had him by the collar, said he caught him shooting beer bottles |
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Down in the holler and smoking and I said, "Is that right?" |
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He said, "They won't speak when spoken to |
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So which one here belongs to you? And I know one does |
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'Cause they all started running to your back forty |
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When they saw me coming on my gator" |
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And I looked him in the eyes and I said |
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He's mine, that one |
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Got a wild-hair side and then some |
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It's no surprise what he's done |
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He's ever last bit of my old man's son |
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And if you knew me then |
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There'd be no question in your mind |
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You'd know he's mine |
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Yeah, he is |
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On Friday night the football games |
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Living for the speakers to call the name |
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On the back number thirty-seven |
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Just one forty-five and five foot eleven maybe |
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Limelight barely shined on him but everyone still remembers |
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When he whooped up on that boy way bigger |
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For taking that cheap shot on our little kicker and they threw him out |
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Oh man, you should, you should've heard me shout |
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I yelled, "He's mine, that one" |
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Got a wild-hair side and then some |
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Oh, it's no surprise what he's done |
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He's every last bit of my old man's son" |
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And I'll take the blame and claim him every time |
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Yeah man, he's mine and he'll always be |
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The best thing that ever happened to me |
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You can't turn it off like electricity |
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I'll love him unconditionally |
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And I'll take the blame and claim him every time |
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Yeah, y'all, he's mine |
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I thank God he's mine |
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Bless his heart |
