Print

Yeah Yeah Church Bitch I came up from this shit, shotgun laying right by the screen door Alarm buzzing on my house, did my old lady know she gotta hit the floor Ain't taking shit from you fuckboys, I got Tennesseans to make you get lost [?] by the river no bubbas don't, concrete feet like a sidewalk So don't make no wrong turns that GPS might not pick up You might run up on some crackers that love cracking people's skulls It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker If I get jammed up and I need a ride, I'm calling Sampson any day or night He's rolling up in a Al Camino with a engine built for a drag night Running 7 40s in a 8th mile with a pistol loaded, no driver's license And the game reserve come find me, city cop cars with a two wheel drive With a crate of shine sitting in a truck, we get heated up with a big lighter Being crazy and we're that creative, it's actually how I fucking live [?] Other country rappers really can't hang 'cause I ain't living what they talk about Are you rednecks and from the south, quit tryna convince me what you about Just tell it to the mic, show me on the road You got bullshit running by the fucking load I don't believe a song you ever fucking sold You used to be against and now you never was Letras de canciones[?] you got shooters, keep it on the hush You ain't got no shooters, you can't shoot a gun You ain't fucking hard, why you lying son Everybody in here know where I'm from So don't make no wrong turns that GPS might not pick up You might run up on some crackers that love cracking people's skulls It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Well I've been here on that country shit, that cracker shit, that redneck shit A lotta these boys done changed their way but I'm still in the woods just killing shit Still rap about some hunting, mudding, fishing, drinking country living I see a bunch of fuckboys in camo hats that's never lived it I see you got them jeans tucked with your skull ring and that pinch of snuff Where I'm from deep in the country that fake shit'll get you fucked up Take a wrong turn and work that mouth and it won't be hard to find me [?] son I do shoot guns, and I blend in with them pine trees Patrolling down these backroads, I keep these gun racks shaken Deer tracks in the dirt on a redneck's turf and the buckshot keeps on spraying Don't run up on these country boys that's really on some country shit Leave your ass in a ditch, take your boots and take your shit So don't make no wrong turns that GPS might not pick up You might run up on some crackers that love cracking people's skulls It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Make no wrong turns that GPS might not pick up You might run up on some crackers that love cracking people's skulls It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker From Letras Mania