| Yeah! |
| and I’ve set up and torn down this stage with my own two hands
|
| We’ve traveled this land packed tight in minivans
|
| And all this for the fans, girls, money, and fame
|
| I play their game, and then they scream my name
|
| I will show no shame, I live and die for this
|
| If I come off soft, then chew on this…
|
| Are you scared?
|
| Devil without cause, and I’m back
|
| With the beaver hats and Ben Davis slacks
|
| 30-pack of Stroh’s, 30-pack of hoes
|
| No rogaine in the propane flows
|
| Chosen one, I’m the living proof
|
| With the gift of gab from the city of truth
|
| I jabbed and stabbed and knocked critics back
|
| And I did not stutter when I said that
|
| I’m goin platinum sellin' rhymes
|
| I went platinum seven times
|
| And still they ill they wanna see us fry
|
| I guess because of only God knows why
|
| Why why why why
|
| Ohhhhh
|
| They call me cowboy, I’m the singer in black
|
| Throw a finger in the air, let me see where you’re at
|
| And say (Hey, hey)
|
| Let me hear where you’re at and say (Hey, hey)
|
| I’m giving it back so say (Hey, hey)
|
| Show me some metal and say (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| (Fuck all y’all)
|
| I like AC/DC and ZZ Top
|
| Bocephus, Beasties, and the Kings of Rock
|
| Skynyrd, Seger, Limp, Korn, the Stones
|
| David Allan Coe, and No Show Jones
|
| Yeah! |
| Pass that bottle around
|
| Got the rock from Detroit and soul from Motown
|
| The underground stoned fuckin' pimp
|
| With tracks that mack and slap back the whack
|
| Never gayed away, I don’t play with ass
|
| But watch me rock with Liberace flash
|
| Punk rock the Clash, boy bands are trash
|
| I like Johnny Cash and Grandmaster Flash
|
| Ohhhhh
|
| They call me cowboy, I’m the singer in black
|
| Throw a finger in the air, let me see where you’re at
|
| And say «Hey, hey»
|
| Let me hear where you’re at and say (Hey, hey)
|
| I’m giving it back so say (Hey, hey)
|
| Show me some metal and say (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| Yeah, I saw your band
|
| Jumping around on stage like a bunch of wounded ducks (Psh!)
|
| When you gonna learn sucker?
|
| You just can’t fuck with Twisted Brown Trucker!
|
| I’m an American Bad Ass, watch me kick
|
| You can roll with Rock or you can suck my dick
|
| I’m a porno flick, I’m like Amazing Grace
|
| I’m gonna fuck some hoes after I rock this place
|
| Super fly living double wide
|
| Side car on my Glide so Joe C can ride
|
| Full sack to share, bringin flash and flair
|
| Got the long hair swinging, middle finger in the air
|
| Snake skin suit, 65 Chevelle
|
| See me ride in sin hear the rebel yell
|
| I won’t live to tell, so if you do
|
| Give the next generation a big «Fuck you!»
|
| Who knew I’d blow up like Oklahoma
|
| Said fuck high school, pissed on my diploma
|
| Smell the aroma, check my hits
|
| I know it stinks in here, cause I’m the shit
|
| Ohhhhh
|
| They call me cowboy, I’m the singer in black
|
| Throw a finger in the air, let me see where you’re at
|
| And say (Hey, hey)
|
| Let me hear where you’re at and say (Hey, hey)
|
| I’m giving it back so say (Hey, hey)
|
| Show me some metal and say (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| I’m a cowboy, bad ass in black singing
|
| (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| From side to side, from front to back Say
|
| (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| I put Detroit City back on the map by singin'
|
| (Hey, hey, hey, hey)
|
| Kid Rock’s in the house and that’s where I’m at! |