Lyrics:
activator
Brought to you by, cool Keith
this rotting chow line.)
Can we recover?
We cover our heads and run for the gutter!
Toby Keith's horses and Toby Keith's men
Finally put us all
A parody of "Who's Your Daddy?" (Written and recorded by Toby Keith)
New lyrical adaptation by Cledus T. Judd, Christopher Clark and Frank Pierce.
a buck
To anyone who lies through their teeth"
If this banker's broke, I'm Toby Keith
I mean Toby Maguire
No, Toby Flenderson
Well my whole country was
have that body like she use to
Fuck Mr. Bean
I'll shoot yo' team like Clint Eastwood
You don't know shit 'bout Toby Keith
No you don't know shit 'bout
Hearin' Toby Keith Urban or some other guy
Drivin' the girls all crazy
Well I want a bit o' that but I'm not where it's at
Drive a sloppy old jalopy, live
Past or present day
Check my resume still climbing
So get out my way
Living with scars
Baptized by fire
My kredentials left tears
For my Angel I admire
its dawn
Then someone suggests that we switch to pong
Country music's blastin, thank God cause I'm actin
like Toby Keith, solo cup in hand and I'm
ninja stars on a kamikaze
I got Keith I got Toby
I got Steve I got Tony
I got so many police under my pay rollie
I got Johnny I got Freddy
I got Tommy I
of your car
And listened to Toby Keith
Then you wanted to get pizza
So we walked right down the street
Ned came after the concert
Said it sounded pretty
in the yard
Full of nothing but a hell of a time
But we got Toby Keith playing too loud
Lawn chairs and surround sound
Good beers with good blends
(Bang)
No toy with the Travis Meal?
Did Kylie take all the plastic? (What)
Kevin can tell that your fans are bad
Covered by pricks like a Cactus, Jacques
spot they goin' on a streak
I ain't really seein' nothin' but they bout to hit they peak
Peso in my pocket, but I promise that it's not no Toby Keith
Way
a southern drawl,
Acts like Toby Keith, but sounds a lot like Tim McGraw
But if he's country I'll kiss your ass,
And throw all my Willie Nelson records
out
Of luck, Jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I've always been
And then, I'm a stab a fucking critic with his
the butter
I'm soft and hard, never st-stutter
raised by the suburbs in city asylum
graffiti painted proverbs of the fire island
I'm dialing the numbers
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