Kenny Chesney - Fields of Glory (Audio)

Summer cotton, summer corn, summer hash marks and a scoreboard. Summer where they fought the Civil War, that's what my grandpa said. Picking up our heads that we found, or picking up another first down. Taking them girls to the edge of town and watching the sky turn red, on a blanket in a Chevy bed. We grew up on em, stirred up dust on em. We were tough on em, with our cleats and our retread tires. We stayed out late on em, we went to state on em. Every blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand stories, fields of glory, fields of glory. Shooting cans off a tree stump, cold beer buzzing with the June bugs. Sitting around talking like we knew what we were doing for the rest of our lives. We shined our lights on em, threw three strides on em. Said our goodbyes on em, when September came around. We had it made on em, part of our state on em. Every blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand stories, fields of glory, fields of glory. You drive by and see a barbed wire fence, I see boys turning into men. I go back every now and then and walk around and think of how. We grew up on em, stirred up dust on em. We were tough on em, with our cleats and our retread tires. We stayed out late on em, we went to state on em. Every blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand stories, fields of glory, fields of glory, fields of glory, fields of glory.