Lyrics by Ronnie Riddle
Music by Marty Hill, Benny Huntt © 2009
Granddaddy was a hell raiser first class.
A fist-fightin’, bar-brawlin’ kicker of ass.
Unwanted, half-breed, illegitimate son
Of a hard-drinkin’, rail road workin’ son of a gun
Who always stood his ground, and never backed down…
He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch.
If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich!
Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch.
Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch
My daddy was a chip off the old block.
A blue-collared, hard-nosed puncher of clock
From the rough side of town to the jungles of Nam
The son of a son of a street fightin’ man
Who always stood his ground, and never backed down…
He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch.
If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich!
Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch.
Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch
The apple never falls that far from the tree.
Three generations of hell before me.
Roots run deep when the soil is rich.
I’m the son of a son of a son of a sumbitch!
He was an old fashion ass-whoopin’ son of a bitch.
If you’re lookin’ for trouble, brother, you just struck it rich!
Hair-triggered temper; no safety witch.
Just an old fashion ass-whoopin’… Sumbitch
