Rewrite: My Version

Think Me
When you think country I want you to think me

You're an LA County, smooth talkin' boy
with a sweet leather jacket and Ray Bans to
block the sun.

You don't know the word poor, you've never
seen a farm, and you say you'll never go huntin'
But you know that's who I am
and who I'll always be, baby I'm country.

I've got a thick twang accent, a Kansas plate to match,
and I drive through LA blarin' my Paisley
When you hear the noise you'll always know I'm there,
so when you think country I want you to think me.

You've got some pretty blue eyes and sun-kissed skin,
You're the best dressed boy I've ever seen
But you don't open doors, you care more 'bout 'ur car,
and worst of all you don't like country.

I need a home grown farm boy that's not scared
to use a gun but still knows chivalry.
You ask me to choose, "What's it gonna be?"
But honey when it comes to me, it's always gonna be country.

So next time 'ur drivin' in 'ur Porsche, you hear that music play,
see the Kansas plate and you know it's me,
think about the time you could have gone country!