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Draw Your Own Line



My Great-Great-Grandaddy Callahan

Well, they say he was a street-fightin’ man

Tougher’n nails, Irish as Hell, he made his money in the work camps

My Daddy was a trig-state Golden Gloves

Before I was born, for two years runnin’

He said “Always take the first shot, son, don’t you let ‘em see you comin’”


I was raised by the tough kind of people

Where you don’t back down and you don’t complain

Stand up for yourself, son, and it’ll work out fine

Just keep your head up, boy, and draw your own line



My Papaw Martin was one of eleven kids, 

He never drank much whisky, wouldn’t’ believe it if he did

He farmed cotton in that hot delta mudplayed Hank Willams songs and he prayed to Jesus

Granny Johnson lived through the Depression

Never once ashamed of being a Christian

She’d say, “Bless your heart” and “Lord, have mercy”, the day she died, good God it hurt me, but



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