| Woke up early mornin' cotton mouth like a moccasin
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| Late night ride was runnin' from the cops again (Yeah)
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| '87 heavy Chevy loaded with the lift kit
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| Ridin' nine miles with my dogs, don’t get lit
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| Brahma Bull, Demun Jones and some moonshine
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| Waitin' for a bonehead to walk that old tree line
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| And if he don’t show, we’re headed to the waterin' hole
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| Catch some bluegills from a homemade fishin' pole
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| Take 'em to the camp, fish fry with some dirt necks
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| Drinkin' Hot Damn liquor drinks 'til we get wrecked
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| Pullin' up in an old Trans Am
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| Corey Dammern in the house caught some fish at the dam
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| Got a cooler full of bluegills that just got reeled
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| Two o’clock in the mornin', hot grease in the grill
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| Them boys in the woods run river water deep (Yeah what)
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| And you can catch us chillin' at the Moccasin Creek (Come on)
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| The boys in the woods ride mighty deep
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| All the way from Jones County to the Moccasin Creek
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| You can talk that trash and you can act all hard
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| But I promise you won’t ever trespass in the yard
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| I got two Bluetick’s, we got plenty of guns
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| Deep off in the sticks we got plenty of fun
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| But if you wanna get rowdy we can grant your wish
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| Because the boys in the woods don’t take no lip
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| Come on
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| Carhartt straw hat, RedHead boot
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| Ready to stomp through the woods, aim and shoot
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| But I woke up at six too late to hunt coons
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| Had to settle for a deer, I skinned it with a spoon
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| See I knew how to swim in a creek when I was seven
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| Full of water moccasins on Highway 11
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| We played front yard football, no pads on at all
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| If the bone ain’t stickin' out, get back up when you fall
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| Hail Mary every play 'til the sun went down
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| Barefoot kickoff, return, touchdown
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| JC grade GA is where I stay
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| Bring your manners when you come around, we don’t play
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| Because the boys in the woods are always armed
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| When I put on that blaze you better ring the alarm
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| Your buddies ain’t comin' out where we raise hell
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| I’m wearin' nine kinds of camo, I can’t see myself
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| The boys in the woods ride mighty deep
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| All the way from Jones County to the Moccasin Creek
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| You can talk that trash and you can act all hard
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| But I promise you won’t ever trespass in the yard
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| I got two Bluetick’s, we got plenty of guns
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| Deep off in the sticks we got plenty of fun
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| But if you wanna get rowdy we can grant your wish
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| Because the boys in the woods don’t take no lip
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| Come on
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| Breaker breaker one nine, shotgun ridin'
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| Front porch sippin' rebel flag stays flyin'
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| Coondogs with beer bellies, Hank III blastin'
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| Woke up in the mornin' gonna need a few aspirin
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| Runnin' with the boys 'round here, it’s a lifestyle
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| Field dress 'em in the moonlight, buck knife style
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| Quick cracked glass packs, chewin' on some backstrap
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| And when it’s nite-nite time, camouflage knapsack
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| Raised on the dogs when we drop that tailgate
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| Raised on them hogs, cornbread, and a hot plate
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| Whiskey made of corn, grape jelly from the backyard
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| Fresh scent, now them Beagle’s runnin' like a track star
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| I’m on Yelvington and we let them little doe’s cross
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| T-Wood said hold up, here comes the big hoss
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| Granddaddy big buck, you know that shots good
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| My momma must have been a tree, I was born in the woods, haha |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Boys in the Woods, artist - Moccasin Creek. Album song Hillbilly Rockstar, in the genre Кантри