| Yeah
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| Still on that ass like handcuffs
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| Up in ya like hand-puppets
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| Make a mute holla
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| You should’ve jumped in that Impala homie
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| Refrigerators never seen ice baby
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| Not vanilla, not a breeze on the hill
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| Will make a flame grab a chinchilla
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| Quite like the words I built up to
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| Fuck guppies, I see food and I hush puppies
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| So give me that king crab
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| And I’ll break its shell, you seen that?
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| Well fuck 'em if he don’t take it well
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| So crack the top off that hot, shaking ale
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| And say «Free Young Struggle» who’s not making bail
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| He got popped by the feds
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| Fuck the cops! |
| Take an L
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| Fuck it take M-N-O-P, learn how to spell
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| I’ll pull up to the gate and we’ll skate on these country faggot’s
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| And until then, fuck 'em, they can have it
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| Slumerican means: Slum American breed
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| Gutter raised with world-wide dreams, yeah
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| Put your hands to the sky
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| I’m a bullet in the barrel with a hairpin trigger now
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| Yeah, I’m a landslide
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| I’m a head case, trainwreck, avalanche comin' down
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| Put your hands to the sky
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| I’m a ready made party, I’m whiskey in a bottle now
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| La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
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| I’m whiskey in a bottle now
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| Still on that gas like
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| The bottom of my signature shoe, 'Bama red
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| I’m on that ass like Alabama did LSU
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| Goose egg, oh lord
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| Bible Belt raised in your mouth like a cold sore
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| Roll Fords? |
| Nah roll tide and roll Chevys
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| My momma rolls joints, smoke rolls off of the tip
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| Daddy’s a rolling stone, I’m rolling in shit
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| With these pigs in the south side
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| Who you rolling with in the sticks?
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| With hair weaves and air streams
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| Cigarette stained walls
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| Fuck, I can barely breathe
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| Spittin' shotgun pellets
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| Out of my fuckin' chili bowl
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| But am I a hill billy? |
| No
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| I am the truth behind these fuckin' illusionist
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| Yellin' redneck, you about as red as the color blue is
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| Call me a redneck, and I just tattoo it
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| Because of the abuse and I use it as therapy in music
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| So.
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| Put your hands to the sky
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| I’m a bullet in the barrel with a hairpin trigger now
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| Yeah, I’m a landslide
|
| I’m a head case, trainwreck, avalanche comin' down
|
| Put your hands to the sky
|
| I’m a ready made party, I’m whiskey in a bottle now
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| La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
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| I’m whiskey in a bottle now
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| Still on that grass like John Deere’s
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| This yard is already cut, you can’t get no work here
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| Uh, you fags thought it was swag
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| You was stealing, it turns out I got no peers
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| Just years of street smarts, so here you go retards
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| Come hit this bullseye, I’ll give you three darts
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| One: my last album flopped, two: it wasn’t my time
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| Three: my fuckin' mama’s selling my pajamas online
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| La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
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| But guess what? |
| (I'm whiskey in a bottle now)
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| Fuckin' right, I’m aged, I’m thirty-three
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| I’m not a child who plays with rap to get a piece, don’t clap
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| For no MC who’s wack, they get a free slap
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| Fuck out my car when I smashed in a Caprice, I’m Jack
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| Sippin' still, whippin' wood wheels
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| Truck on steroids, illegal to play ball
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| But dammit how good it feels, drop that black card
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| Park in the backyard, baby fire up the grill
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| It’s party time
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| Put your hands to the sky
|
| I’m a bullet in the barrel with a hairpin trigger now
|
| Yeah, I’m a landslide
|
| I’m a head case, trainwreck, avalanche comin' down
|
| Put your hands to the sky
|
| I’m a ready made party, I’m whiskey in a bottle now
|
| La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
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| I’m whiskey in a bottle now |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Whiskey In A Bottle, artist - Yelawolf. Album song Love Story, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп