Country Boy Shit

Yeah, yeah, Church

Bitch I came up from this shit, shotgun layin' right by the screen door

Alarm buzzin' on my house, then my old lady know she gotta hit the floor

Ain't takin' shit from you fuckboys, I got Tennesseean's that make you get lost

Bottom of the river, no bubbles dawg, 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

Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker

If I get jammed up and I need a ride, I'm callin' Sampson any day or night

He's rollin' up in a El Camino with a engine built for a drag night

Runnin' seven 40's in a eighth mile with a pistol loaded, no driver's license

And the game reserve come find me, city cop cars only two-wheel drive

With a crate of shine sittin' in a truck, we get heated up with a Bic lighter

Being crazy and what I created, it's actually how I fuckin' live, player

A lot of country rappers really can't hang, 'cause they ain't livin' what they talkin' 'bout

All you rednecks 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, used to be a gangster, 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 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

Well, I been on that country shit, that cracker shit, that redneck shit

A lot of 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'

Deer 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