CountryIf I had red leather pointy-toed cowboy boots and ...

Country

If I had red leather pointy-toed cowboy boots

 and a solid gold archtop Harmony guitar

and propped my foot up on your coffee table

while I leaned back and strummed the guitar,

and if I sang with a country accent somewhere

between June Carter and Dwight Yoakam,

would you call me hillbilly, and would you listen anyway?

You don’t know me but you dont like me,

and I wonder how many times

you have walked the streets of Bakersfield? 

And no, I have never been to California,

and I traded in my Stetson for my trademark

slightly dirty khaki hat

but I hung around the tunnel in Aliquippa,

strumming and walking and somebody

even took a picture of me looking out

to the west in the rain for the cover of the album

nobody bought called This Town is Union Made.

But when I was fourteen, I went to Brownsville,

Mc Allen and Reynosa, where they fed me tacos and tamales

and I fell in love with every Mexican girl

on both sides of the Rio Grande.