I'd rather be seven beers deep with a Coleman cooler propping up my feet
My ass in a lawn chair, floating on the breeze in a Sun Tracker
I'd rather be tucked in a pit blind somewhere on the Mississippi-Louisiana state line
Waiting on them green heads to do a fly-by, lip full of tobacco
When I hear you bitch at me
It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be
I'd rather be stripping off shingles on a July roof down in Tishomingo
Working like a dog, living in a single-wide (yes, I would)
I'd rather be stuck at your mama's watching midday re-runs of her favorite dramas
Wearing my pajamas neck-deep in Days of our Lives
When I hear you bitch at me
It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be
Yeah, all the places I'd rather be
Oh, let me hear it, how I leave my clothes on the floor
Track dirt through the door and don't bother cleaning up
Let me hear 'bout the guy you wish I was
When I hear you bitch at me
It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be
When I hear you bitch at me
It makes me think of all the places I'd rather be
There's a lot of places I'd rather be
