If that ain't country.

The old man was covered with tattoos and scars, he got some in prison and others in bars, the rest he got workin' on old junk cars. In the daytime they looked like tombstones in our yard, and I never seen him when he wasn't tired and mean. He sold used parts to make ends meet. Covered with grease from his head to his feet cussin' the sweat and the Texas heat and moskeeters and the neighbors said we lived like hicks, but they brought their cars for Pa to fix anyhow.