Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Back Roads , by - Nappy Roots. Release date: 24.09.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Back Roads |
| Back roads, country shit |
| Rollin' dope, bunch of shit |
| Granny house, 30 deep |
| Gold teeth, bare feet |
| Where I go you never know |
| A country road you’ll never go |
| 24s, country shit |
| All we know is country shit |
| Back road, country shit |
| I’m rollin' dope, gotta bunch of shit |
| My neighbor just got home, but not from a bid |
| He been overseas fighting, now home wit his kids |
| The rich can’t feel like the poorest |
| We was Po eating grits at my aunt Lois |
| Had the time of my life we was so stoic |
| Didn’t have much but you wouldn’t know it |
| Now granny gone, my uncle gone |
| I’m runnin' out of reasons to make it back home |
| To my family looking down from the heavens above |
| See me rolling thru the sticks just doing what I love |
| On a back road, country shit |
| Rollin' dope, bunch of shit |
| Granny house, 30 deep |
| Gold teeth, bare feet |
| Where I go you never know |
| A country road you’ll never go |
| 24s, country shit |
| All we know is country shit |
| Train tracks, I’m from the other side |
| Caddy Coupes, we blowing country fried |
| Winding roads, and not a cop in sight |
| Stars out, shining on your darkest night |
| Small town living, all they do is fight |
| And all we do is 'dis, sawed off with the pistol grip |
| Back it up, then talk yo' shit |
| She’s acting up, she’s not yo' bitch |
| Country chic, that’s not my cousin |
| Don’t hit the legion, them fools be bussin' |
| Front porch, my uncle cussing |
| Drunk as all out doors, kids outside they double dutching |
| I’m double clutching, sippin' on some Atlantucky |
| My family is forever hustling, forward, the plan it must be |
| No looking back, there’s no getting rusty |
| If I’m a speak it to existence you gon' have to trust me |
| I understand, new things need adjusting |
| Life is short, it ain’t no guarantee, just keep on trucking |
| Back road, country shit |
| Rollin' dope, bunch of shit |
| Granny house, 30 deep |
| Gold teeth, bare feet |
| Where I go you never know |
| A country road you’ll never go |
| 24s, country shit |
| All we know is country shit |
| And yea I’m from the South but I dress Western |
| They call me Buffalo, I’m built like a ex-wrestler |
| Brock Lesnar, ice on my hip flexor |
| Jacuzzi suite, top floor at the Best Western |
| Dusty cowboy boots wit a fresh Stetson |
| Lumps of coal turn to diamonds when you add pressure |
| Catch me running thru my paper like a fast tester |
| I want da new King Ranch, not the next Tesla |
| First class jet setter, I ain’t that special |
| Buddy pass in the exit row, leg stretcher |
| I’m a seafood, soul food TexMexer |
| So keep ya tofu, soybean, veg lecturers |
| To yourself cuz my mouth can’t stand the texture |
| Flick you off wit both hands like I’m ambidextrous |
| Got my good draws on and they polyester |
| Eyeing down your heifer makin' naughty gestures |
| Country shit |
| Back road, country shit |
| Rollin' dope, bunch of shit |
| Granny house, 30 deep |
| Gold teeth, bare feet |
| Where I go you never know |
| A country road you’ll never go |
| 24s, country shit |
| All we know is country shit |