Funky in the Country Songtext

von Bob Gibson

Walk about a mile with Joey, Ted and Mickey.
Barefoot gravel's gettin' kinda tricky.
Blow my nose on a windy bit o' shirt tail,
Goin' back home where it's funky in the country.

Have an afternoon o' sunshine,
Skip a rock, maybe kick a tin can,
Set the sinker on a trotline.
We'll have a time.

Wadin' in the water, playin' by the creekside,
Tryin' to catch a crawdad, smoke a little grapevine,
Wonder where my dog went; supper's comin' sundown.
Love it out here where it's funky in the country.

Can't take the hustle in the city.
It's too fast, I gotta get a slowdown.
Out where it's peaceful and it's pretty,
Suits me just fine.

Chop a little stovewood, stack it on the woodpile,
Baitin' up a trotline, tryin' to catch a bullhead,
Jumpin' out the hayloft, landin' on a haystack -
It blows my mind.

The sun is sinkin' on the hillside.
They're horseshoe pitchin' in the backyard.
Maybe sip a little moonshine,
White lightnin' time.

"Honey," lover's callin', "supper's on the table."
Later on the front porch, rockin' in the glider,
We agree that we love it in the country.
It's lovely, lovin' in the country.

Have an afternoon o' sunshine,
Skip a rock, maybe kick a tin can,
Set the sinker on a trotline.
We'll have a time.

Walk about a mile with Joey, Ted and Mickey.
Barefoot gravel's gettin' kinda tricky.
Blow my nose on a windy bit o' shirt tail,
Goin' back home where it's funky in the country.