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You've got friends in low places, no question. You're an eight ball shooting, double fisted drinking son of a gun, even if you're a girl. Maybe you haven't loved your romantic partners quite as often as you should have, but you sure do love your mama. You'd totally walk across the desert with no shoes for her. Good thing, because you've probably left your boots under somebody's bed. (And you recognize all the lyrics we've quoted here.)
You don't want to go to heaven unless there's a dirt road there, that's how country you are. Your idea of paradise is a road that goes on forever and a party that never ends. Your life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride. Let those country roads take you home. (By the way, we're pretty sure you know at least three of the songs we've referenced here.)
You may have been to the city but you're definitely from the country. You wouldn't trade your life for diamonds or jewels ' you never were one of them money hungry fools. When the sun comes up, you've got cakes on the griddle. And, like John Denver's, your life ain't nothing but a funny, funny riddle. Thank god you're (mostly) a country boy. Or girl.
Your boots may have been under a bed or two, but you're only halfway country. For instance, you probably know when to hold em, but not when to fold em. You might know when to walk away but you sure don't know when to run. And sometimes you even count your money when you're sitting at the table. When it comes to country versus city, you pretty much break even. (But surely you know who Kenny Rogers is.)
Okay, so you're a little bit country. It's buried way down deep, underneath that sophisticated city slicker exterior, but it's still there. Maybe you have an inexplicable fondness for your motor vehicle. Maybe you drink the odd beer for breakfast. Maybe you love the smell of wet dirt. Whatever it is, don't be afraid to embrace it!
You're not even a little bit country. There ain't no Memphis or Nashville in your soul. Face it. You belong to the city. You were born in the city. And we're betting that city was well above the Mason Dixon line. Yup, you're a man (or a woman) of the street. Concrete under your feet. Neon lights yadda yadda yadda. You should try some moonshine some time. It would clear your head of that Glenn Frey song.