| Yeah, hell of a day
|
| To load a .22 and take it to the woods and let it ring
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| Into the night and break a bottle with the bullet
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| Yes I’m 'bout it motherfucker, not a single solitary thing
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| Is missin' from my southern roots I’m liable just to take a Chevrolet
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| And run it through the mud for giggles
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| Huh, what a son of a bitch my momma raised into a rapper
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| Who could tell a story like my uncle when he’s drinkin'
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| Product of a workin' environment, fuck is y’all thinkin'?
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| Meanin' I’m workin'-workin' harder than any artist
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| Can ever do it simply 'cause I’m made that way
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| I build a house around your ass before you could realize
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| That you in the neighborhood that Yelawolf made
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| So call me a redneck and tell your boys about it
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| Tell 'em I’m an Alabama wanna-be, I be that
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| I’ll just take it to the studio
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| And drop a bomb on you from a motherfuckin' beanbag
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| I need that.
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| Get away, tell my folks roll up the J’s
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| Bring Yelawolf a deuce, we’ll sit up on the roof of the broken Chevrolet
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| Talk til there’s nothing left to say
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| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
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| Then you gon' have to get away from me
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| Drink some, smoke some
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| You gone have to get away from me, load up the guns, load up the guns
|
| Then you’ll have to get away from me
|
| Drink some, smoke some
|
| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
|
| Then you gone have to get away from me
|
| Man, I done been through it all
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| I done been up and know what it is to fall
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| Punk police feeling all on my balls
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| Without a probable cause, cause a nigga sittin' tall
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| «Dawg, you gotta do something Fatt
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| On the road with Wolf, why did you come back?»
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| Cause them up there, don’t wanna play fair
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| Got me pinned to the wall, like a fucking thumb tack. |
| «Dumb fat!»
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| Dumb hell, criticize a nigga for the crack I sell
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| Like you could give a shit if a nigga eat well or eat at all, wanna see me fall
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| Let ‘em see that? |
| Naw dawg, them lies
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| Only cause I got Catfish on my side
|
| Bitch I’m headed up, up to the sky
|
| Roll up, let’s get high
|
| Wavin' them bye, I need that
|
| Get away, tell my folks roll up the J’s
|
| Bring Yelawolf a deuce, we’ll sit up on the roof of the broken Chevrolet
|
| Talk til there’s nothing left to say
|
| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
|
| Then you gon' have to get away from me
|
| Drink some, smoke some
|
| You gone have to get away from me, load up the guns, load up the guns
|
| Then you’ll have to get away from me
|
| Drink some, smoke some
|
| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
|
| Then you gone have to get away from me
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| 20 plus 20 still spittin' 'em out
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| Still piss on your porch and still shit in your house
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| Then put my dick in your mouth, take it back out, put it back in
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| Fuck on the floor, skeet on the couch
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| Which one of you ugly muthafuckers think you thug enough or rugg enough
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| Or gutter enough, fast enough to keep up (huh)
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| The most retarded motherfucker in the whole wide world
|
| Ain’t stupid or dumb enough to fuck with it
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| If you in say you in, and if you is handle your mutherfuckin' business
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| Knuckle up, buckle up, hustle up, huddle up. |
| What we gonna do? |
| Win!
|
| Not a nan' ‘nother nigga outta there can compare
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| To what I do to these boys on these bars and these scales
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| In these clubs in these bars on these tables and chairs
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| I need that!
|
| Get away, tell my folks roll up the J’s
|
| Bring Yelawolf a deuce, we’ll sit up on the roof of the broken Chevrolet
|
| Talk til there’s nothing left to say
|
| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
|
| Then you gon' have to get away from me
|
| Drink some, smoke some
|
| You gone have to get away from me, load up the guns, load up the guns
|
| Then you’ll have to get away from me
|
| Drink some, smoke some
|
| Cause if I don’t get away, you gonna see my trailer park ghetto ways
|
| Then you gone have to get away from me |