Son-of-A....

Well, I grew up rough on the old dirt road, Mama had words, a way that she showed. 'Son-of-a-bitch,' she'd say with a grin, I'd laugh it off, I'd take it on the chin. Friends would ask, 'Is that some kind of trouble?' I'd say, 'It's just her way, nothing to unravel.' If they pushed, I'd set 'em straight, 'She's my mama, what's there to hate?' Yeah, they call me Son-of-a-bitch down at the bar, I wear it proud, like a badge, no scar. They wink and smile, it's a damn good name, I'm still here, still runnin' this game. Son-of-a-bitch, that's what they say, And it don't bother me, no, not in any way. I saunter in, the crowd starts to cheer, "Here comes Son-of-a-bitch," I hear them clear. I step to the bar, get my whiskey neat, And I start to sing, stompin' my feet. I tell 'em the tale, how it came to be, Mama's love, no shame in me. They laugh and clap, and raise their glass, To the Son-of-a-bitch who'll outlast. Yeah, they call me Son-of-a-bitch down at the bar, I wear it proud, like a badge, no scar. They wink and smile, it's a damn good name, I'm still here, still runnin' this game. Son-of-a-bitch, that's what they say, And it don't bother me, no, not in any way. If your name don't fit, don't wear it right, Make it yours, and don't lose the fight. Wear it proud, wear it true, Tell your story, and see it through. So raise your glass, here's to the name, Son-of-a-bitch, but I ain't ashamed of that name. You call me what you will, but it's all the same, 'Cause I'm still standin', still rockin' this game