I am from the woods, from sticks and leaves.
I am from the holler of Kitts Creek Kentucky
I am from the hickory chickens, the ginseng.
I am from hunting and trapping, from grand dad and uncle and the Fultz’s
I am from the cocky and bold.
I am from the good man upstairs and church Sunday morning.
I am from the tall Appalachian mountains, corn bread and biscuits.
From the war stories from grand dad and the better men they lost overseas.
I am from that old gun hanging on the wall that has more stories than ever imaginable.