Lyrics:
Timestamps on backroads
I got those by the truckload
We ran these, some too slow
Blunt cruisin' when we rode
Hittin' every stop sign with some
to the farm
We drove by tractor there
The yellow straw replaced our hair
We laced the dairy river with the cream of sweet vermouth
In my brain I rearrange
I shoot them shit Kyrie Irving
Like all of the za i be burning
We spin on top like ceiling fans
Nemo p bitch I been the man
Tractor trail with
It's a big job just gettin' by with nine kids and a wife
I been a workin' man dang near all my life
I'll be working
Long as my two hands are fit
as my man
Come here, stay with me, stroke me by the hair
'Cause I would give anything, anything, to have you as my man
Little bit, little bit
In a town about the size
Of a truck-stop or bigger
Lived Linda Bohannon, a natural queen
She lived with her folks in
A little white farmhouse
She
on a mission, you see
There's money that I'm missin'
I got 'em posted
Told 'em "Move and I'ma murder y'all"
You and all the trouble goin'
Through by servin' y'all
pickup drove up. It had KC lights, tractor tires,
everything but the CB. It was a life-size Hot Wheels car for some dumb rich kid,
right. Well, they
He gets up every morning
Before the sun comes up
He’s halfway through his workday
‘Fore you fill your coffee cup
He climbs high up in his tractor
Leave him with his socks, hard bottoms and bloomers on
And hang him by his balls from the horn of a unicorn
Y'all niggas intellect mad slow, y'all fags
brains
Neither one is equal to the challenge of the freak we'll call
The bee of the bird of the moth
Now the moth defeats the mouse and man
It's
a backwoods baby
Drive my tractor drive me crazy
Likes huntin'
Loves fishin'
And she can hold her own in the kitchen
And by the way boys did I mention
She's
I'ma see you in Hell (inhale)
Battle rap? Boy you wouldn't win a debate
The type of legacy I got
You don't get by mistake
Man don't let them amp you up
to the farm
We drove by tractor there
The yellow straw replaced our hair
We laced the dairy river with the cream of sweet vermouth
In my brain I rearrange
a little lovin'
Livin' nothing down south)
(A black man, that not too many understand)
It's Saturday, time to play
I gotta hit the street, I'm chilling not
scary, out there all by yourself
When it starts getting dark
Whatcha say I come over and park my Silverado
In your little red barn
I could bring a case
Hey!
Ha!
Oh!
There was a man
A little ole man
Who lived in Montreal
With a wife and a kid
And a car and a house
And a teenage daughter
shoulda took the shower instead but she said
You smell a little like fresh plowed farm fields
A little like a John Deere tractor
A little like fresh mowed
G-Man
Hating from a distance nigga
You a far fan
Beat the pussy up, I told the bitch You won't see me again
She put her head down, ass up
I might beat
J your breath smell real putrid
Ugh little nigga back up don't be all slow and dumb like a tractor
You ain't no real smoker don't be a lame actor
I
J your breath smell real putrid
Ugh little nigga back up don't be all slow and dumb like a tractor
You ain't no real smoker don't be a lame actor
I
I'm addicted
Money, power, ammunition, guess I'm addicted
Quavo! Whoa, Addicted to the money, man
Ugh! Touch down on the plug
For a hundred bands
Like all of the za I be burning
We spin on top like ceiling fans
Nemo p bitch I been the man
Tractor trail with a thousand grams
Aka heavy load
Niggas
tied down 'bout forgotten
what a field looks like full of corn and cotton
If I'm gonna hit a traffic jam
Well it better be a tractor man
So sick
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