Lyrics:

The preacher man says it's the end of time
And the Mississippi River, she's a-goin' dry...

The interest is up and the stock market's down
And you only get mugged if you go downtown...

I live back in the woods, you see,
My woman and the kids and the dogs and me...

I got a shotgun rifle, and a four-wheel drive
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive...

I can plow a field all day long,
I could catch catfish from dusk till dawn...

Make our own whiskey and our own smoke, too,
Ain't too many things these old boys can't do...

We grow good old tomatoes and homemade wine,
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive...

Because you can't stomp us out and you can't make us run
'Cause we're them old boys raised on shotguns...
We say grace, and we say ma'am,
If you ain't into that, we don't give a damn...

We came from the West Virginia coal mines
And the Rocky Mountains, and the Western skies...

And we can skin a buck, we can run a trot line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive...

I had a good friend in New York City,
He never called me by my name, just hillbilly...

My grandpa taught me how to live off the land,
And his taught him to be a businessman...

He used to send me pictures of the Broadway nights,
And I'd send him some homemade wine...

But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife,
For forty-three dollars, my friend lost his life...

I'd love to spit some Beech-Nut in that dude's eye
As I shoot him with my old forty-five
'Cause a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive...

Because you can't stomp us out and you can't make us run
'Cause we're them old boys raised on shotguns...
We say grace, and we say ma'am,
If you ain't into that, we don't give a damn...

We're from North California and South Alabam',
And little towns all around this land...

And we can skin a buck, we can run a trot line,
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
A country boy can survive
Country folks can survive...