Outlaw (feat. Luke Combs)

Where have the rebels gone

We don't need another pretty boy singing pretty songs

Fake country boys

Doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer, and whipping ass

I need a preacher

I need a savior, how about you all?

Can I get an outlaw?

Let me get a outlaw

Like the man who raised me up

Hauling chickens to Kentucky

In the back of beat-up trucks

Because all I'm seeing now

Is Hollywood wearing some hunting gear

And T.V. shows 'bout idiots

That think country is drinking beer

I'm sick of seeing skinny jeans smiling like a cover girl

I wanna see some kids outback

With twenty twos popping squirrels

I wanna see some young guns

Going out on a duck hunt

And lesser of this Flappy Bird

And acting like a lazy bum

'Cause trends got it twisted

And they make country a petty style

Now where's all my country folks

That actually could go survive

When that stock market crashes

I'll be somewhere deep off in these pines

Killing shit, kicking ass

And taking what the hell is mine

We don't need another pretty boy singing pretty songs

Fake country boys

Doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer, and whipping ass

I need a preacher

I need a savior, how about you all?

Can I get an outlaw?

I got scars on my knuckles

From a loud mouth in the parking lot

Knife wounds in my back

From so called friends that tend to lie a lot

There's snakes up in the grass

But, bubba shit, I'm used to walking tall

And if I feel you're talking shit

Won't second guess to jack your jaw

Today the world we live in

Realness tends to wash and fade away

That's why if you ain't walking shit

Then I don't care for shit you say

I met the folks I idolize

And so far they're some white ass lies

Just country faking good disguise

Now tell me how that tends to fly

I'm on my southern rhyme twang

Baby, come and roll with me

Backwoods as it gets

And not the shit that you see on T.V

I'm talking Chevy C10

Kicking up some brown rocks

Thirty o' six with a cedar-stained wood stock

We don't need another pretty boy singing pretty songs

Fake country boys

Doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer, and whipping ass

I need a preacher

I need a savior, how about you all?

Can I get an outlaw?

I stay coming in like a rock

So they be calling me the Scottsdale

Cornbread fed

And you know I'm raising plenty hell

I'm turnt up like some honkies

At a kegger party in a hotel

And I'm breaking down these barriers

Like drywall that needs repairs

I'm cold with my shit, boy

I'm cold with my style boy

That backwoods, that hick town

That late night, that driving round

That George Straight cranked real loud

Got lightening bolts on my windshield

That back road, no cops found

And I'm sipping on that hot brown

I wreck shit, my motto

Got rednecks by the truckload

That smell good stay sprayed on

I hit downtown and take girls home

That bonfire, light that up

Home grown shit, roll one

I got a gun rack in by back glass

And a big gun, it holds one

We don't need another pretty boy singing pretty songs

Fake country boys

Doing country all wrong

Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash

Somebody chewing 'baccer, and whipping ass

I need a preacher

I need a savior, how about you all?

Can I get an outlaw?