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Red clay mud caked up on the door, Twelve gauge buckshot rollin' in the floorboard. Turkey feather flappin' up in the visor, Every Friday night she's a dirt road rider. You can tell a man by his truck, F one fifty painted on the fender. Gun rack rattling in the window, You can tell a man by his truck. It's got scratches and dents, just like him. Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling. You can tell a man by his truck, yes uh. Backwoods baby sittin' in the front, She likes the way it rumbles and rides a little rough. Hah, yeah she does. Tearin' up a corn field, bustin' through a rut. My baby's screamin', "faster," she can't get enough. You can tell a man by his truck, F one fifty painted on the fender. Gun rack rattling in the window, You can tell a man by his truck. It's got scratches and dents, just like him. Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling. You can tell a man by his truck, yes uh. Letras de canciones Plays horse, ball caps, sliding cross the dance floor, Boot check in the back, parking up a storm. You can tell a man by his truck, F one fifty painted on the fender. Gun rack rattling in the window, You can tell a man by his truck. It's got scratches and dents, just like him. Come hell or high water gonna keep on rolling. You can tell a man by his truck. Oh man, you can tell a man by his truck. From Letras Mania