Scuttlebutt Video: Redneck Yacht Club

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Scuttlebutt: Video of the Week

(March 17-21, 2008) For better or worse, the sport of sailing has an attached mystique that stems partly from the exclusive clubs that support its participants. We suspect that if everyone trailered their boats to city launch ramps, docked in public marinas, and told sailing stories on park blankets rather than mahogany bar stools, participation would be sky high. Scuttlebutt Sailing Club was a start, but folks still like to socialize, so maybe we need to take a look at how another segment of society handles the club scene: rednecks. Sang by Craig Morgan, here’s the video for the song “Redneck Yacht Club” from the album “My Kind Of Livin'”.

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Redneck Yacht Club
by Craig Morgan

I'm meetin' my buddies out on the lake:
We're headed out to a special place we love,
That just a few folks know.
There's no signin' up, no monthly dues
Take your Johnson, your Mercury or your Evinrude an' fire it up:
Meet us out at party cove.
Come on in' the waters fine,
Just idle on over an' toss us a line.

Bass-trackers, Bayliners and a party barge,
Strung together like a floating trailer park,
Anchored out and gettin' loud all summer long.
Side by side, there's five houseboat front porches,
Astroturf, lawn chairs and tiki torches.
Regular Joes rocking the boat, that's us:
The Redneck Yacht Club.

Bermuda's, flip-flops and a tank-top tan:
He popped his first top at ten a.m.: that's Bob,
He's our president.
We're checkin' out the girls on the upper deck,
Rubbin' in 15 SPF, its hot:
Everybody's jumpin' in.
Later on when the sun goes down,
We'll pull out the jar and that old guitar,
An' pass'em around.

Bass-trackers, Bayliners and a party barge,
Strung together like a floating trailer park,
Anchored out and gettin' loud all summer long.
Side by side, there's five houseboat front porches,
Astroturf, lawn chairs and tiki torches.
Regular Joes rocking the boat, that's us:
The Redneck Yacht Club.

Bermuda's, flip-flops and a tank-top tan:
He popped his first top at ten a.m.: that's Bob,
He's our president.
We're checkin' out the girls on the upper deck,
Rubbin' in 15 SPF, its hot:
Everybody's jumpin' in.
Later on when the sun goes down,
We'll pull out the jar and that old guitar,
An' pass'em around.

Bass-trackers, Bayliners and a party barge,
Strung together like a floating trailer park,
Anchored out and gettin' loud all summer long.
Side by side, there's five houseboat front porches,
Astroturf, lawn chairs and tiki torches.
Regular Joes rocking the boat, that's us:
The Redneck Yacht Club.

When the party's over and we're all alone,
Well be making waves in a no-wake zone.

Redneck Yacht Club. (Na na, na na, na na, na na, na na, na na.)
(Na na, na na, na na, na na, na na, na na.)

The Redneck Yacht Club.
(Na na, na na, na na, na na, na na, na na.)
(Na na, na na, na na, na na, na na, na na.)

(To fade)