| Yew, what the fuck is up?
|
| Made it
|
| You see that fuckin' dude try to cut me off?
|
| Go up in here and get a beer
|
| Another shot
|
| Blues party
|
| Uh, yeah. |
| Woo woo! |
| What up Gill?
|
| What up mane?
|
| Hey y’all
|
| I see my boy Yelawolf comin' up in the house, mane
|
| What! |
| Look like -got his boys with him too, mane
|
| Hey, can you grab me a beer?
|
| Is that brother Bones out there?
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| Ah, it look like DJ Klever, too, mane
|
| Hey, Yela! |
| Man, come up here and give these folks somethin'
|
| I need to go get me a drink, mane
|
| Let him come on, ladies and gentlemen
|
| Yela, Bones, DJ Klever
|
| Yo, let’s freestyle some shit
|
| That’s right
|
| Check, check, check
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| Let’s go Klever
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| (*skretches*)
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| This is Bones Owens to my right, right here
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| To my left DJ Klever
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| My name is Yelawolf
|
| This is Trial By Fire
|
| Uh
|
| Back in 1979 it was a cold day in December
|
| Mamma peeled the paint off the wall, screamin'
|
| Babie’s on the way
|
| They rushed her to the hospital in that old Chevy truck
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| Running 90 miles an hour down them back roads
|
| Blowing past the sheriff, hid in the woods, smoke bellowing off the engine
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| Running hot, must have been a sign
|
| They rushed her to the emergency room
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| And barely made it to the bed
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| A few minutes later I was screaming for my first breath
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| «A little devil,» the doctor said
|
| He’s got that look in his eye, ya know?
|
| Reminds me of mischief
|
| Yeah this ones gonna be trouble I can tell it
|
| And then the lights went
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| Then mamma said doctor something’s burning, I can smell it
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| And it was trial by fire
|
| I’m just under a plane singing to burn it down
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| You better watch your step
|
| When I come around
|
| Damn right, uh
|
| You could hear lightning for miles around
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| And oak trees hitting the ground
|
| The wind tore holes on that old Dixie flag on the capitol steps
|
| Change is coming, my great grand mamma said
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| Quietly clutching her Bible, sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette
|
| And the wood creaked beneath the porch and the old dog moaned and cried
|
| As the sirens passing by
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| And Mr. Williams brought a mean batch of that moonshine to the wake
|
| You know one comes and one goes as they say
|
| And they laid a flower on the grave
|
| Buried on December 29th for robbing a bank
|
| And killed by the police, see you in the next life old friend
|
| Little did he know, his old friend was back again
|
| As the son of Sheila Diane
|
| And it was trial by fire
|
| I’m just under a plane singing to burn it down
|
| You better watch your step
|
| When I come around
|
| You know how the story goes, c’mon
|
| See me, I’m a curious soul
|
| A stray bullet to some a chatter and whisper at night and the head of a
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| following storm, a rebel at heart, a devilish grin
|
| A leader of men, a preacher at ten
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| I was already in to spiritual sin
|
| Back in the saddle again
|
| 12s in the back of the trunk, making it rattle again
|
| Giving them nothing but punk
|
| Living, the baby, the babie’s got powers, the baby is haunted
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| Fuck a church, I’m a confession
|
| Professional, public annointed
|
| Came from the wrong side of the tracks
|
| Bring the wrong crowds out the back
|
| Keeping these gutter dogs raised
|
| With these alley way cats
|
| Seen what these others can’t see
|
| My poetry is a reflection of life looking up from the bottom
|
| And climbing that fucking tree, but I brought a chainsaw
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| I come to build a house up out of it, chopping
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| Limbs off this culture, and putting soliders up inside of it
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| Nails, brick, mortar, board up the windows
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| For the tornado, I’m a fatal blow to these honorable foes
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| Bag up the hot potato
|
| And it was trial by fire
|
| I’m just under a plane singing to burn it down
|
| You better watch your step
|
| When I come around |