Country Boy Shit

Yeah yeah
Church

Bitch I came up from this shit
Shotgun layin' right by the screen door
(yeah) alarm buzzin' on my house
Then my old lady know she gotta hit the floor
Ain't taking shit from you fuckboys
I got Tennesseean's that make you get lost
(yeah) bottom by the river no bubbles dog
Concrete feet like a sidewalk

So don't make no wrong turns that
GPS might not pick up
You might run up on some crackers
That love crackin' people's skulls
It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
(yeah) country boy shit, yeah motherfucker

If I get jammed up and I need a ride
I'm calling Sampson any day or night
He's rollin' up in a El Camino with
A engine built for a drag night (yeah)
Running 7 40s in a 8th
Mile with a pistol loaded
No driver's license
And the game reserve come find me
City cop cars only two wheel drive (yeah)
With a crate of shine sittin' in a truck
We get heat it up with a Bic lighter
Being crazy and with that created
It's actually how I fucking live player
A lot of country rappers
Really can't hang 'cause
I ain't livin' what they talk about
Are you redneck and from the south
Quit tryna convince me what you about
Just tell it to the mic, show me on the road
You got bullshit runnin' by the fuckin' load
I don't believe a song you ever fuckin' sold
You used to be a gangster
And now you never was
Claimin' you got shooters
Keep it on the hush
You ain't got no shooters
You can't shoot a gun
You ain't fuckin' hard, why you lyin' son
Everybody in here know where I'm from

So don't make no wrong turns that
GPS might not pick up
You might run up on some crackers
That love crackin' people's skulls
It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
(yeah) country boy shit, yeah motherfucker

Well I've been here on that
Country shit, that cracker shit
That redneck shit (yeah)
A lotta these boys done changed their way but
I'm still in the woods just killin' shit
Still rap about some
Huntin', muddin', fishin'
Drinkin' country livin'
I see a bunch of fuckboys in
Camo hats that's never lived it
I see you got them jeans tucked with your
Skoal ring and that pinch of snuff
Where I'm from deep in the cut that
Fake shit'll get you fucked up
Take a wrong turn and run that mouth and
It won't be hard to find me
Bring it son I do shoot guns
And I blend in with them pine trees
Patrollin' down these backroads
I keep these gun racks shakin'
Get tracks in the dirt on a redneck's
Turf and the buckshot keeps on sprayin'
Don't run up on these country boys
That's really on some country shit
Leave your ass in a ditch
Take your boots and take your shit

So don't make no wrong turns that
GPS might not pick up
You might run up on some crackers
That love crackin' people's skulls
It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
Make no wrong turns that GPS
Might not pick up
You might run up on some crackers
That love crackin' people's skulls
It's that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker
Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker