Lots of folks told me I've got cold,
but I've got it right.
A winter apple picked up in the fall.
But even as a youngin',
I was not the bashful type,
cause I could yell the loudest of them all.
I'm little, but I'm loud.
I'm poor, but I'm proud.
I'm country fine, and I don't care who knows it.
I'm like a banty rooster in a big red rooster crowd.
I'm puny, short, and little, but I'm loud.
I learned to do my singing walking along behind the plow.
The singing teacher always passed me by.
And so I had to sing the only way that I know how,
is way back up on a fan letter fly.
I'm little, but I'm loud.
I'm poor, but I'm proud.
I'm country fine, and I don't care who knows it.
I'm like a banty rooster in a big red rooster crowd.
I'm puny, short, and little, but I'm loud.
I sang a special solo song in church once in the morn,
and I was plumb and bearish to my skin.
I hit a high note,
turned around,
sure as I was born.
You countin' 14 notes, come walkin' in.
I'm little, but I'm loud.
I'm poor, but I'm proud.
I'm country fine, and I don't care who knows it.
I'm like a banty rooster in a big red rooster crowd.
I'm puny, short, and little, but I'm loud.
I'm puny, short, and little, but I'm proud.