| I’m a million lightyears away from the dark
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| A thousand miles and running
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| Country boy can survive
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| I’m alive, a loaded gunnin'
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| Backseat full of crooks
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| Pen and paper, this one’s for the books
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| Pack it, wrap it, seal it, send it
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| To the corner in a Travis Caddy
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| Everybody in this motherfucker jumpin', footprints on the wall
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| Gimme the losers, the ones who don’t fit in
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| And with this shit we’re gonna have a ball
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| Swing around the mosh pit, do-si-do
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| Catfish Billy and a Dobro
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| I’m Psycho White — oh, no
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| I’m a chili pepper in an Oldsmobile
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| Comin' out for the kill
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| I don’t gamble
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| I don’t deal with these whose whose in this mass appeal
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| I just wanna be behind a steering wheel of a semi-truck
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| Then get drunk and run amuck
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| With every single one of my misfits
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| Bitch, that’s how we’re showin' up
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| With them lowriders on the west side
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| Lift kits from the south
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| Jump in the passenger seat of my '69 and hit the bootleg house
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| I’m on my new shit, still ready and ruthless
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| A public nuisance
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| But I feel right at home
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| Since they’re still sleepin' on me, let me wake 'em up
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| Got the world in my palm, watch me shake it up
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| Everything I’m talkin' real, I ain’t make it up
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| I know you probably think I care, but I don’t give a fuck
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| But I ain’t givin' up, I’d rather live it up
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| Everybody sound the same, you need to switch it up
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| They still swervin' in my lane, they need to give it up
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| But I don’t give a fuck, I don’t give a fuck
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| I don’t give a fuck, really I don’t give a fuck
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| Still bumpin' Three 6 all day, Hank Williams all day
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| So promenade when the lights in the ballroom swing
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| And shake and then fall and break with that bottom bass
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| Make you wanna tear the club up and go tattoo your face
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| Country boys, gutter raised, what a blend, that’s all it takes
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| Got a lock in the pocket, a rock in the sock
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| With a cop I’m a nervous wreck
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| I never could keep a job 'cause I rob and I take
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| And I leave you with nothing left
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| But mama tried
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| Mama tried to harvest early and the pot died
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| If she ever said I was a good boy, trust me, mama lied
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| Leave these haters with a cane to walk
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| Take these lames with a grain of salt
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| All I wanna do is take aim, assault, tell my story
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| Paint the wall from Alabama to Atlanta
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| From Atlanta I began to build a plan, a panoramic view
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| To center who my friends, the men around me was
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| The culture is that slum, and I’m not alone
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| I put a flag in Nashville, and I’m feelin' right at home
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| Since they’re still sleepin' on me, let me wake 'em up
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| Got the world in my palm, watch me shake it up
|
| Everything I’m talkin' real, I ain’t make it up
|
| I know you probably think I care, but I don’t give a fuck
|
| But I ain’t givin' up, I’d rather live it up
|
| Everybody sound the same, you need to switch it up
|
| They still swervin' in my lane, they need to give it up
|
| But I don’t give a fuck, I don’t give a fuck
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| I don’t give a fuck, really I don’t give a fuck
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| And the whole world is yours
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| This I know, because Nas told me so
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| Damn right, so give me that bag of money real quick
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| Let’s go, I’ve got it cranked, it’s parked out front
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| I’m a wanted man and I’m on the run
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| And I’m goin' back to Cali to the alleys where they packin' rallies
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| With the skateboarders, punks and rowdies
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| And show 'em this country savvy
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| I, am, Yelawolf and I’m feelin' right at home |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Punk , by - Yelawolf. Song from the album Trial By Fire, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп