| You know Tommy gonna trick his truck, jack it up big time,
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| Lift kit, chrome tips, spit shinin like a diamond.
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| Game changed and the rain came and we took it down a back road.
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| Georgia clay mudhole, that’s how these boys roll
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| Now it’s late night underneath the moonlight.
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| Errybody’s feelin right, sippin on a bud light.
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| Go on drop yo' tailgate, turn up your radio.
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| I’m a build a bonfire, you can make yourself at home
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| Kick back, relax, you know we’re just a bunch o' hillbillies
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| Tip back a cup a' Jack and throw your hands up with me.
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| Hey, we might look a little crazy tonight, hey baby that’s alright,
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| It’s our backwoods, boondock roots, it’s just what we do.
|
| It’s just what we do.
|
| Hey, ain’t no way to make this up, when it’s runnin through your blood,
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| There ain’t no hidin the truth, it’s just what we do.
|
| It’s just what we do.
|
| Yeah, it’s just what we do
|
| You see Tommy called Jeanie and Jeanie gon' call the hotties, tell em bout the
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| party,
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| So don’t forget the Bacardi.
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| Time to get your buzz on and your love on, all night long,
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| And if you play your hand right, you won’t have to go home alone.
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| Six string pickin, solo cup sippin, and when the moments right, grab ya phone
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| and get them digits,
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| Crankin that Bocephus, we all good with Jesus.
|
| Come Sunday morning that preacher, he bout to preach it
|
| Kick back, relax and pass the good time moonshine.
|
| Who brought the party? |
| Damn, that was Florida Georgia Line.
|
| Hey, we might look a little crazy tonight, hey baby that’s alright,
|
| It’s our backwoods, boondock roots, it’s just what we do.
|
| It’s just what we do.
|
| Hey, ain’t no way to make this up, when it’s runnin through your blood,
|
| There ain’t no hidin the truth, it’s just what we do.
|
| It’s just what we do.
|
| Yeah, it’s just what we do. |