Let me tell ya'll a story
so far fetched it must be true.
'bout a bunch of fatherless boys from Florida
and one who was man enough for two.
Practiced twelve hours a day in the Hell House
in the swamps outside 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 for the Stones and the Who.
300 shows a year, outdoor summer festivals,
them boys wouldn't even break a sweat.
They hit the road doing ninety,
leave them steel mills far behind.
Ain't no good life down at the Ford plant.
Three guitars or a life of crime.
Sold out shows and platinum records,
New York critics and redneckers.
Bunch of boys from Florida had them eating from their hands.
They had the fame and all the glory.
Folks, it's still some sad story,
legend overshadows 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.