Back in the day, all they ever did was doubt us. Now the south is in the house and they can’t do nothing about us.
Ain’t nobody wanna listen to the wisdom of a band on a mission, so they play an old song. Everybody wants to sit back, relax, take an exlax, and jam a song they can sign along. I’ve been blazing a trail to the grail, I’ll never fail and I’m gonna make you insane in the brain. And when we’re through you’ll knew the only band that remained the name was the motherfuckers in Grain, Are you ready, cause here comes the breakdown. Four cats coming straight outta Aggtown, Bury you motherfuckers face down, at the same time, make your girlies do the shakedown. Too rap for rock, to rock for rap. They’re still playing the same old crap. They won’t give us a track, yet we’re still on the map, Champs of the south, how the fuck ya like that?
They ain’t ready for the real shit, they want something they can deal with, we know you wanna hear this, so turn off your radio and listen to this.
How many more Nickelbacks, Three Doors Downs, and Stainds will they continue to play? Recycling old shit all day, not giving a fuck what they have to say. How do they know what people won’t like, and what they’re gonna jam? That’s like saying a guy can work a 9-to-5 and not make out a metal pit alive. Hope ya brought your bifocals, cause you’re gonna see me a lot. Get a drink and a shot, hang with your boys in G-Block. We get burned a lot, hanging with psychos, rednecks, and gang members. All of them unite, they feel us, we’ve all got a cowboy within us.
They ain’t ready for the real shit, they want something they can deal with, we know you wanna hear this, so turn off your radio and shhhhh…
Think we’re ignorant? You’re wrong. We’re like the heat from a smoking gun. Bet you’re gonna run when the G comes, c’mon boy this is gonna be fun, Radio can suck a dick, cause they aint ready for the real shit. They best recognize real quick, before their clock makes a final tick, they ain’t into this. The Edge wouldn’t even give a look to this, we tour endlessly to play this shit, Sweat and piss in a van trapped with mist from a list of things that don’t exist. Bring it to you raw, running from the law, Will radio play this? Hell nah, Cause they ain’t ready for the real shit, Crack ‘em dead in the jaw. They ain’t ready for it, They ain’t ready for the real shit!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
