| A side of whisky, feelin frisky, all the wisdom
|
| Wishin that a motherfucker would diss me while I’m tipsy
|
| I’m a gypsy with a pissy attitude
|
| And my latitude is only 6 degrees from bad mood
|
| I’m not a bad dude, just scruffy beard and tattoos
|
| And my bad views might seem a little too taboo
|
| They only hate me cause my mind’s in the gutter
|
| For my filthy fuckin mouth, apologies to my mother
|
| For my filthy fuckin flow, no apologies needed
|
| For my roots planted in the red clay, deep-seated
|
| Yeah I’m heated with a middle finger pointed at the burbs
|
| Preacher speakin to the heathens only using two words
|
| Fuck you!
|
| Oh, I’m just confused
|
| And I’ve been used up and thrown away by the world you love again
|
| Oh, I’m just like you
|
| And I always seem to lose all the games I play
|
| With the world you love but I’ll never love that way
|
| I got welts from bible belts and closed fists
|
| And they wonder why the hell that I’m so pissed
|
| And off my rocker like my papa with a twelve gauge
|
| Rock salt, poppin ass, some junkie in a driveway
|
| Doin it my way, «Fuck em», my philosophy
|
| Swingin mahogany at bastards with apostrophes
|
| A trailer park heart, Christian in the cul-de-sac
|
| White trash delinquent and lookin for a skull to crack
|
| I use a pen, it’s just like minutes on a TracFone
|
| Confessin, I’m sick of motherfuckers with no back bone
|
| I’m not alone, got an army full of heathens
|
| They was raised like me and they feelin how I’m feelin
|
| Oh, I’m just confused
|
| And I’ve been used up and thrown away by the world you love again
|
| Oh, I’m just like you
|
| And I always seem to lose all the games I play
|
| With the world you love but I’ll never love that way
|
| No B.C. |
| for me please, I’m okay
|
| I see things differently since 08'
|
| I might give a fuck, just quit giving a fuck
|
| If you ain’t like the shit I spit then you is shit outta luck
|
| I might get outta truck with the m2 benelli
|
| Buck shot to the belly, through your fuckin pelle pelle
|
| I’m a silly hillbilly with a mental condition
|
| A backwoods devil, 7th son of perdition
|
| A southern tradition, Boondox the scarecrow
|
| Georgia to the bone, wicked to the marrow
|
| The King of Heathen’s keeps on fiendin for a reason
|
| Murder in the sky, it’s the season of the demon
|
| Oh, I’m just confused
|
| And I’ve been used up and thrown away by the world you love again
|
| Oh, I’m just like you
|
| And I always seem to lose all the games I play
|
| With the world you love but I’ll never love that way |