Let me tell ya'll a story

So far fetched it must be true

Bout a bunch of fatherless boys from florida

And a boy who was man enough for two

Practiced twelve hours a day in the hell house

In the swamps out side of town

100 degrees without no open windows

Heat radiating off the tin

They named their band lynyrd skynyrd

After the coach who kicked them out of school

Practiced seven days a week

'Cause rock's the only thing to save them from life in the factory

They spent years inside the hell house

Then they opened foe the who

90 degrees outdoor summer festivals

Them boy's wouldn't even break a sweat

Played each show like their lives depended on it

300 a year will take it's due

They kicked the stones a*s out at knebworth

Ask anyone who was there and they'll tell you

They hit the road doing ninety

Leave them steel mills far behind

Ain't no good life at the ford plant

Three guitars or a life of crime

Sold out shows and platinum records

New york critics and redneckers

Bunch of boy's from florida had them eating from their hands

They got the fame and all the glory

But folks it's still a sad story

When legend over shadows the songs and the band

Let me tell y'all a story that more or less is the truth

From the swamps of northern florida to the swamps

Just north of baton rouge