County Hunting

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[Verse 1] County line before the sunrise, thermos in the truck Daddy’s old map folded where the gravel road turns up Frost along the fence wire, cedar holding still I can hear the creek bed talking underneath the hill [Chorus] Big bucks in the timber, mallards on the wing Cold hands, red cheeks, and the whole woods listening We’ll bring home the stories, let the tailgate be our throne County hunting, backroad country—best place I’ve ever known [Verse 2] By noon we’re tucked in cattails where the black water bends A pair of greenheads circles, then they swing around again My brother calls them easy; I just grin and watch them fall Then we trade the marsh for hardwoods as the evening shadows crawl [Chorus] Big bucks in the timber, mallards on the wing Cold hands, red cheeks, and the whole woods listening We’ll bring home the stories, let the tailgate be our throne County hunting, backroad country—best place I’ve ever known [Bridge] No prize could beat the coffee passed around at dawn Or the way we laugh about the one that got away and carried on When the season closes, those old roads still remain And every first cold morning calls us out again [Final Chorus] Big bucks in the timber, mallards on the wing Cold hands, red cheeks, and the whole woods listening We’ll bring home the stories, let the tailgate be our throne County hunting, backroad country—best place I’ve ever known County hunting, backroad country—best place I’ve ever known [Outro] Map folded in the glove box, mud drying on the floor We’ll be back before the frost comes, like we’ve always been before