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a single generation... tradition doesnít make

but now and then creation... gives the genes a little shake

 my papa's high position... left mom to tend the fold

which begs for inquisition... ëbout the music in my soul

the rockers call it country... the cowboys call it folk

while the minstrels say itís funky... which keeps me free and broke

a lett is not a russian... a lapp is not a finn

and christ was not a christian... till the gen-tiles want-ed in

evërybody wants a piece of salvation

and they canít just let the whole kingdom come

 

the listeners grow impatient... the laughers grab the scene

and critics trash in silence... what in truth they canít demean

while passively pretending... to honor their elite

itís all that i can do...  to keep my rhythm in my feet

the rockers call it country... the cowboys call it folk

while the minstrels say itís funky... forgive me, whereís the joke

a lett is not a russian... a lapp is not a finn

and christ was not a christian... till the gen-tiles want-ed in

evërybody wants a piece of salvation

and they canít just let the whole kingdom come