| Heavy metal longsleeve made in 1988
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| Fake nugget wristwatch made in 1988
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| Dixie cup in the cup holder, shakin', makin' waves
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| Boom, boom, boom, got Jurassic Park 808's
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| Ooh, I’m Elvis Presley, 38's on 22's
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| Rhinestone jacket like Joshua Hedley
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| Yeah, I got that Honolulu
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| Flower power, bouquet, medley
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| 'Bout to throw this Chevy in Tom Cruise
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| And go Trailer Park Hollywood, go Trailer Park Hollywood
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| Yeah, I got a styrofoam cooler full of cheap suds
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| Rock a necklace that I pulled off a sink plug
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| Bubba’s in the corner chillin' with the mean mug
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| Permanently ill, never did king drugs
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| Did he crack a smile or is it just cracker smiles?
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| That white trash hood shit, go deep with the crocodiles
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| That gummo celebrity mullet is fucking popping now
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| You laid on my vision, you out of touch like a pocket dial
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| Now hold up, open up the folder, look back in the rolodex
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| We repping the seat ever since your uncle was smoking boas
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| Ever since your crooked ass cop daddy, he pulled me over
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| And took my quarter bag of dope, 'cause he’s a smoker
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| Fuck it, I got a lot where that came from
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| I know a couple grow spots where that came from
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| 808's rattle in the seat where she came from
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| Yeah, I keep that bottom 'cause I know where I came from
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| Still Slum, bitch
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| Just like a new velvet painting of a pinup girl
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| We Trailer Park Hollywood, we Trailer Park Hollywood
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| I still got the dice hanging from my rearview 'cause
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| I’m Trailer Park Hollywood, I’m Trailer Park Hollywood, Hollywood
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| Your mama’s cigarettes hanging with the heroin, girl
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| She’s Trailer Park Hollywood, she’s Trailer Park Hollywood
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| Just like a new velvet painting of a pinup girl
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| We Trailer Park Hollywood, Hollywood
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| British nights, stepping through puddles and drinking Sprite
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| Baby blue dirt bike, kickstand and the kitchen lights
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| Diggin' through mama’s vinyl collection to the smell of fried bologna’s a
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| ceremony
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| My religion is 'Bama life
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| No smoke in the mirror tricks, just dope in the mirror with
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| The seeds in the rolling tray and the box with the poker chips
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| The roach in the roach clip with the leather and feathers
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| The bellbottoms and aqua net, the hippies and heavy metal, uh
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| And the block is hot as a tea kettle
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| So much dope in the garage you can’t park in it
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| These levels of underground made me a genius with keeping secrets
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| With a family that’s scramblin' police radio signals
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| So what does your daddy do?
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| Punch in the clock and growin' pot in the paddy room
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| And you can’t hang unless you get on his latitude
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| Hip-hop is my lane and rock and roll is my attitude
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| I stay country fresh, bitch
|
| Just like a new velvet painting of a pinup girl
|
| We Trailer Park Hollywood, we Trailer Park Hollywood
|
| I still got the dice hanging from my rearview 'cause
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| I’m Trailer Park Hollywood, I’m Trailer Park Hollywood, Hollywood
|
| Your mama’s cigarettes hanging with the heroin, girl
|
| She’s Trailer Park Hollywood, she’s Trailer Park Hollywood
|
| Just like a new velvet painting of a pinup girl
|
| We Trailer Park Hollywood, Hollywood |