Country Boy Shit - Upchurch, Bottleneck

Yeah

Yeah

Church

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

Alarm buzzing on my house, did my ol' lady know she gotta hit the floor

Ain’t taking shit from you fuckboys, I got Tennesseans to make you get lost

Bottom of the river no bubbas don’t, 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 cracking 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 calling Sampson any day or night

He’s rolling up in a El Camino with a engine built for a drag night

Running 740's in a eighth-mile with a pistol loaded, no driver’s license

And the game reserve come find me, city cop cars with a two wheel drive

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

Been crazy and we’re that creative, it’s actually how I fucking live player

Other country rappers really can’t hang 'cause they can’t live it,

what they talk about

Are 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 running by the fucking load

I don’t believe a song you ever fucking sold

Used to be a gangsta, now you never was

Pimpin you got shooters, keep it on the hush

You ain’t got no shooters, you can’t shoot a gun

You ain’t fucking hard, why you lying 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 cracking people’s skulls

It’s that country boy shit, yeah motherfucker

Country boy shit, yeah motherfucker

Well I’ve been here on that country shit, that cracker shit, that redneck shit

A lotta these boys done changed their ways 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 work 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

Patrolling down these backroads, I keep these gun racks shaken

Deer tracks in the dirt on a redneck’s turf and the buckshot keeps on spraying

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 cracking 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 cracking 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