EDITOR’S NOTE: This week on NRO, we’re rolling out the first five and then all 50 songs from a list John J. Miller compiled that appears in the June 5 issue of National Review. (#5 appeared here on Monday.) To get the whole list NOW, check out the latest issue of National Review . For itunes links to all 50 songs, hang on until Friday, when we’ll unveil the whole list.

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#4: “Sweet Home Alabama,” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.  ; buy CD on Amazon.com

“Sweet Home Alabama” is not really a paean to the place, though it is a little of that. It is absolutely not a boast about the racist Southern past, though that is where most rock critics prefer to begin and end. “Sweet Home Alabama” is in fact a Great Equalizer—a hacked-off taunt at anyone who thinks he’s better’n me: Down here, “we all did what we could do,” and since most folks talk more than do, “does your conscience bother you?” That goes for Neil Young, the Canadian singer who sneered his way through “Southern Man” and “Alabama,” as well as post-Watergate poseurs above the Mason-Dixon Line. You look down on us, but what did you ever do besides gripe?

We Southerners are a little paranoid, but not without reason. To those who haven’t lived among us, the south’s history is easy: a hundred years of mint juleps, black skin, and white teeth, followed by fire hoses and flaming crosses until the enlightened young proletariat arrived in Nineteen-Sixty-Something to cleanse our redneck souls. Now, they say it’s a Red State Wonderland of jingoism, xenophobia, and ignorance waiting for its next renaissance—not that we deserve it, voting Republican and all. Still, in their charitable moments, Our Northern Betters imagine that a Blue Roses South will rise, chastened and humble and a little slow, naturally, but better in that it will be “just like us.”

Ed King, Gary Rossington, and Ronnie Van Zant of Lynyrd Skynyrd put as much principle as pride to their highway rhythm, answering invective with something bigger. Things aren’t perfect here or anywhere else, they seem to say, but we’ve been known to pick a song or two, we have ourselves some blue skies, and the road will always carry me home to see my kin. We have secrets and shames, but so do you, so don’t dare preach to me. That’s far beyond a singularly southern sentiment. That’s what every free man ought to say. Turn it up.

The lyrics:

Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin
Singing songs about the Southland
I miss Alabamy once again
And I think its a sin, yes

Well I heard Mr. Young sing about her
Well, I heard ole Neil put her down
Well, I hope Neil Young will remember
A Southern man don’t need him around anyhow

Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I’m coming home to you

In Birmingham they love the governor
Now we all did what we could do
Now Watergate does not bother me
Does your conscience bother you?
Tell the truth

Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you
Here I come Alabama

Now Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers
And they've been known to pick a song or two
Lord they get me off so much
They pick me up when I'm feeling blue
Now how about you?

Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you

Sweet home Alabama
Oh sweet home baby
Where the skies are so blue
And the governor’s true
Sweet Home Alabama
Lordy
Lord, I'm coming home to you
Yea, yea—my governor’s got the answer

—Michael Long is a director of the White House Writers Group and the editor of “Too Tough for TV: Rejected jokes of the late-night comics.”