Me and daddy ride around all day shooting doves off a line in a Chevrolet.
Old lab would jump out the back and fetch them up.
We´d drive for miles and miles and never once hit blacktop or change the dial.
One little country station was all there was.
Checking gates, fixing fence and roads that´s how my story goes.

If you want to know the real me, just turn the page in my dirt road diary.
It´s right there for you to see, every kiss, every beer, every cotton field memory.
Tan legs and some Dixie land delight, ridin´ round, windows down on a summer night.
I was there, that was me. Its right here in my dirt road diary.

I remember when I turned sixteen; I got a license and some gasoline.
Ain´t a curve or a straight away we didn´t fly down.
If wasn´t the boys it was me and her by fire in a field or down by the river.
Every inch of that county was sacred ground.
Wish I knew where that old truck was.
If it could talk it could tell on us.

If you want to know the real me, just turn the page in my dirt road diary.
It´s right there for you to see, every kiss, every beer, every cotton field memory.
Tan legs and some Dixie land delight, ridin´ round, windows down on a summer night.
I was there, that was me. Its right here in my dirt road diary.

It ain´t a book underneath my bed;
Just a dusty memory lane in my head.

Tan legs and some Dixie land delight, ridin´ round, windows down on a summer night.
I was there, that was me. Its right here in my dirt road diaries.
Just ride around this little town and you´ll see how I wrote my dirt road diary.