Fields Of Glory - Kenny Chesney

Summer cotton, summer corn

Summer hash marks and a scoreboard

Summer, where they fought the civil war

It’s what my grandpa said

Picking up brown 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

Setting 'round talking like we knew what

We were doing for the rest of our lives

We shine down lights on 'em

Threw three stripes on 'em

Said our goodbyes on 'em

Once September came around

We had it made on 'em

Part of us stayed on 'em

Every blade of that sacred ground’s got a thousand stories

Fields of glory

Fields of glory

You drop 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

They were our fields of glory