A Quote by Jeff Foxworthy

You know you're a redneck if your home has wheels and your car doesn't. — © Jeff Foxworthy
You know you're a redneck if your home has wheels and your car doesn't.
You know the Model of your Car. You know just what its powers are. You treat it with a deal of care, Nor tax it more than it will bear. But as to self — that's different. Your mechanism may be bent, Your carbureter gone to grass, Your engine just a rusty mass. Your wheels may wobble and your cogs Be handed over to the dogs, And on you skip, and skid, and slide, Without a thought of things inside. What fools indeed we mortals are To lavish care upon a Car, With ne'er a bit of time to see About our own machinery!
You might be a redneck if the richest member of your family bought a house and you have to help take the wheels off of it.
If you own a home with wheels on it and several cars without, you just might be a redneck.
I look at safety as, you know, there's active and passive. Passive is how do you survive a crash. Active is accident avoidance. And so that's real-time information to you, as a driver, and to your car, to the wheels of a car that will get you out of a bad situation.
You might be a redneck if you keep a fly swatter in the front seat of the car so you can reach your kids in the back seat of the car.
Your real home isn't your patterned self. It isn't your thinking. It isn't your feeling. Your real home is the deepest within that you know the truth of. Your real home, your only home, is direct knowledge.
You might be a redneck if your beer can collection is considered a tourist attraction in your home town.
In a rabbit-fear I may hurl myself under the wheels of the car because the lights terrify me, and under the dark blind death of wheels I will be safe. I am very tired, very banal, very confused. I do not know who I am tonight. I wanted to walk until I dropped and not complete the inevitable circle of coming home.
Just as you maintain your home, your car, your garden, you should look after your greatest gift: your body.
Your car, comfort though it be, this little den and dining room on wheels, is a prison that deadens your senses, and to feel wholly alive you must go for a walk.
You might be a redneck if the hood and one door are a different color from the rest of your car.
You might be a redneck if your bumper sticker says, My other car is a combine.
You might be a redneck if people hear your car long before they see it.
You might be a redneck if you have a color coordinating rope that ties down your car hood.
If the gas pedal on your car is shaped like a bare foot, you might be a redneck.
I am the living death, a Memorial Day on wheels. I am your Yankee Doodle Dandy, your John Wayne come home, your Fourth of July firecracker exploding in the grave.
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