Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Over Here, artist - Yelawolf.
Date of issue: 28.03.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Over Here |
Silverado, black package |
Dealership didn’t have time to tag it |
I whipped that bitch out the parking lot |
Like I was dead broke and I couldn’t have it |
Uh, swipe that piece of plastic |
Rode around Nashville for three hours |
Listenin' to beats, waitin' for the magic |
Swung by the crib, grabbed WLPWR |
Hit the bar, of course the bar |
Valet park my brand new car |
Threw the keys and when you move it, please |
Be careful and don’t go too far |
Took a second and soaked it in |
Couldn’t wipe off my big-ass grin |
Look at Will, «Can you believe it, man? |
Just wait 'til I get them twinny-twin-twins» |
That’s hard work (Uh) |
I had to do a lot of yard work (Uh) |
I had to pick up that white trash (Uh) |
So I could bet on my artwork (Uh) |
I had to cut my own path (Uh) |
And do something that had never been done |
Alabama ain’t no cakewalk (Uh) |
I showed the world how we popped that trunk |
And it’s one shot down, two shot down, three |
And this old fuckboy keeps looking at me |
He walks up to us then offers me a drink |
I know that he wants to hang, he must think that I’m a tree |
Wanna be rock and roll, he starts ramblin' about who he knows |
And where he’s been and how many records he’s sold |
With who and how and this and that |
And I can’t pretend to like this douchebag |
Even though he’s got the boots, the hats, the leather, and the durag |
The shit he told me he wrote for so-and-so is just so, so whack |
Don’t wanna be the supermodel for the clothes you wear |
Don’t pull a seat up 'cause you see me in my folding chair |
Congratulations, hope your mama’s proud of what you’ve done |
But she may be the only one 'cause |
From over here, you just a bitch |
From over here, a liar and thief, man |
From over here, you make us sick |
From over here, you fakin' to get rich |
Don’t come over here |
Uh, black Schott jacket, black Harley, Lucchese |
38 OG, creatively a new worn baby |
From the G to the A dot D |
Went from the Creek to a Love Story |
Went from a single wide trailer to the boots alligator |
And a highrise over the streets |
Ran through the dirty South in cleats |
Never lost touch, never got beat |
Lot of rappers talk about who’s doing what |
Not a single one said shit about me, now that’s respect |
Can’t buy that with a bat or a check, better check the beat |
I mob with kings |
Crown my head with a tattoo, Slum, make sure it reads |
No more at sea |
Fuck a message in a bottle, deliver my words like Desperado |
Misfits under my umbrella |
I hope these songs fulfill the sorrow |
Take the bricks so you can build tomorrow |
Like a freemason, claw and arrow |
Free bird, a prophet’s sparrow |
Flying through hip-hop, rock, and metal |
And while that clock is ticking |
I won’t let a soul living stop my vision |
Give me that bucket and a mop to dip in |
I’ll shine that floor until it’s popping prisms |
'Til you see the colors of the rainbow dancing off my Box Chevy |
Don’t try to fill up my gas tank or my shoes, homie, you ain’t ready |
And if imitation is flattery, uh, I don’t lack on the flattery |
I just led gatherings up in my room with the magic |
Go back to my cabin and charge up my battery |
Don’t wanna be the supermodel for the clothes you wear |
Don’t pull a seat up 'cause you see me in my folding chair |
Congratulations, hope your mama’s proud of what you’ve done |
But she may be the only one 'cause |
From over here, you just a bitch |
From over here, a liar and thief, man |
From over here, you make us sick |
From over here, you fakin' to get rich |
Don’t come over here |
Fake fucking rockstars, don’t come over here |
Politicians, cop cars, don’t come over here |
Pill poppin' sloppy rappers, don’t come over here |
All you motherfucking biters, don’t come over here |