Little bit country/little bit rock and roll/ a lot of bit small town

So Justin a couple of summers ago started calling me his "white trash, hippy Momma". I think it was meant as a term of endearment but I'm not completely sure. We were all on the back patio drinking Coors Light long necks, laying out by our inflatable pool, and Justin was having me listen to Toby Keith's song, Trailer Hood. I admit that I was in my favorite tie dye cover up and was reading my latest Martha Stewart magazine and had just finished listening to Pat Benatar's greatest hits ('cause I know all the words). Anyway, everytime I watch the CMA's my white trash country side comes out. I'm not sure where this comes from but when you grow up in a small town in West Virginia with pick up trucks, swimming holes, fresh garden tomato sandwiches, and camp outs in the backyard. Honey, you have to be a little bit country. Now, the rock and roll. Well, I grew up in the 60's and 70's, thought I was a hippy and dreamed of being a rock and roll star. So, I can still sing those rock and roll songs, have my Beetle necklace in a safe place, and like dressing like a hippy a heck of a lot more than a teacher. The white trash comes from going to the store in my cleaning clothes and flip flops and stopping to talk to everyone on the way, the ability to sing Karoke in our small town bar, and make wind chimes out of beer cans (just kidding). This combination of just a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, and a dash of white trash has always worked well for me.  I'm not bragging but I can hold my own with big shot lawyers, bring administrators to tears, dance to dawn and know the difference between moonshine and champagne by just looking. I can bake a cake, dig a hole and shoot a gun. In the bottom of my closet are heels, work boots, flip flops, and Birks for school. Justin knows his Momma well and by the way, I traded in the inflatable pool for a beach house but you know I still kind of miss that pool.