My neck redder 'cause the system tried to choke me out They must not of heard I'm the warrior of the rural south Grew up puttin' Coke cans in the tire of my bike So I could pretend I was a cool motorcycle rider I got Barbie on my Harley now, your boy ain't tappin' out I'ma keep it swingin' 'til I'm old, grey, and can barely yell Flow so known you see the Nile when I spit and tell Encrypted with logistical, you fire a shot, I heard the sound I'ma killer but don't treat me like a clown The "It" factor gonna stab any rapper back down to the ground Who the fuck want it with big bad skillbilly? I'm hungry as fuck now and I ain't a meal ticket I'm mil gettin' the real vision is still listed As John Lennon, Michael Jackson, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix (Ha, ha) When I die my last name will be majestic Wake up eat certified gold records for every breakfast Your favorite rapper runnin' bots on his comment section And hashtaggin' my name to change chart positionin' Don't need a pistol with lead to get you penciled in Insultin' me is inflammation without the insulin These rappers can get beat down by smashin' violins Put an 808 on that bitch and call it hittin' licks Give me five seconds to write a riff, pen to pen You'll be ridin' the side of a drainage ditch before we hit I see Firestones floppin', motors start knockin' My Pirelli still sticky and the car wrap poppin' And a bad bitch with me, red head cherry blossom Texas Roadhouse shorts, cut the denim down to nothin' This ain't stuntin', this what cometh of a smooth country bumpkin We don't yee-haw 'round here and I ain't TikTokin' nothin' Only sun up sunset if you need me for somethin' I'll be in the front yard, pupils huge and I'm buzzin' motherfucker Connect the game like WiFi Not scared of threats on IG live or petty drive by's And I ain't in the city, this the thicket, lots of wood lines You smokin' sycamore trees I'm smokin' trees at the same time Front porch sittin' kicked back with some red eyes Keyless entry, I mean on my cars and sight wise Generally the General Lee ain't even beatin' my time CMT is a STD, I'm the real deal in my prime Blue jeans and my bare feet hip hoppin' over barbed wire No Sam Hunt, never gettin' caught in the back of a cop car I'm the last of the rock stars, accent thick covered in sauce Jones for the beat, call Kalani to go get this Aux cord for my Ford No tank of gas and I'm never bored, writers block is a myth of course Easy and simple to riddle a little and double dribble my balls on the court Better miss me like mission abort, I am a drug that you shouldn't snort 'Cause you'll end up dead as fuck in the booth in your studio floor Thinkin' up some words Church
Motherfucker, fucker Ayy Hillbilly Motherfucker Woo, woo, wooTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.