Grew up where the road don’t bend straight,

Dust in the lungs, iron in the taste,

Old men singin’ songs ‘bout loss,

I was bangin’ well you know what I mean.

Didn’t fit that quiet front porch sound,

Had a storm in my chest, couldn’t tone it down,

They sang soft… I hit hard,

Felt more truth in a scar than a chord.

They said “boy, slow down, play it clean…”

I said “that ain’t what I mean…”

This ain’t country, this ain’t clean,

This is somewhere in between,

Kickin’ truth through a busted frame

Gravel pulse in my veins.

Snare hits back like a fist in a fight,

Every beat got a reason to bite,

You can hear where I’m from in the sound

But I’ll never stay down.

JJ laughin’ like the world don’t care,

Tripp lightin’ sparks in the midnight air,

We ain’t stars, we ain’t saints,

Just three ghosts with a tank of mistakes.

Radio dead, so we made our own,

Kick drum talkin’ like a backbone,

No script, no polished line

Just a rhythm keepin’ us alive.

I don’t sing like the songs I heard,

I don’t chase every perfect word,

I just hit ‘til it all comes out

What I feel, what I’m about.

They can keep that pretty sound,

I’ll take truth that shakes the ground,

If it breaks, let it break in time

At least I know it’s mine.

This ain’t country, this ain’t clean,

This is somewhere in between,

Kickin’ truth through a busted frame

Gravel pulse in my veins.

If it’s loud, let it ring out wrong,

If it’s real, then it still belongs,

Ain’t no crown, ain’t no stage to claim

Just that gravel pulse remain.

Buck © 2026