I came up on red clay roads and rusted gates,
Where the prayer hands hang from rearview faith,
Mama worked doubles, Pops fixed brakes,
I learned how to hustle off what they ain’t say.
Now I’m chrome and conviction, boots still dirty,
Heart still heavy but my dreams run sturdy,
I turn my pain into soundwave sermons,
Turn my scars into southern verses.

Ain’t got gold, but I got grit,
Every mile I bled, I commit,
If the Lord’s still countin’ the misfit saints,
Then my name’s carved right in that paint.

From diesel to diamonds, I’m grindin’, I’m shinin’,
Mud on my hands, but my soul’s still climbin’.
Smoke in the rearview, faith in the mileage,
From dirt to divine, I’m still ridin’.
Yeah, I’m still ridin’.

I ain’t no saint, but I ain’t no fraud,
I talk to God through a mic and a Dodge,
Every 808’s like a heartbeat hittin’,
Every word’s a prayer I ain’t quittin’.
From the shed with a cracked amp buzzin’,
To arenas where the crowd keeps hummin’,
Still hear crickets in the mix sometimes —
Guess the country never leaves your lines.

Ain’t got gold, but I got grit,
Every mile I bled, I commit,
Still chasin’ grace on borrowed time,
Every verse a roadside sign.

From diesel to diamonds, I’m grindin’, I’m shinin’,
Mud on my hands, but my soul’s still climbin’.
Smoke in the rearview, faith in the mileage,
From dirt to divine, I’m still ridin’.
Yeah, I’m still ridin’.

Can’t wash off that red clay pride,
Still hear the rain on that tin roof vibe,
If heaven’s got a backroad gate,
Then I’ll slide in late with 808s.

From diesel to diamonds, I’m grindin’, I’m shinin’,
Still dirt-born but now I’m flyin’.
Smoke in the rearview, grace in the guidance,
From mud to the mic, I’m still ridin’.
Yeah… I’m still ridin’.