Lyrics:
can’t live in books on the shelves
This one here's for all my world tourers
City, state, country, urban explorers
Now we get around to all the four
My Kind of Country by BT Hughes
It's plain to see I'm from the South
You'll know for sure when I open my mouth
It's no sir yes ma'am sweet tea for
the third world countries to
My niggas in the set, Yeah
Nobody got religion, we all rebels now
And these people really got a
Church for the Devil now gun
If you looking for bars I know just the thing
Not suicide doors and a bunch of rings
True divine cause make the country sing
My songs it's on yo
I can make a man forsake his country and flag
Make a girl sell her body for a five-dollar bag
Some think my adventure's a joy and a thrill
But
myself alone
To get you to keep you in my arms evermore
Leave all your lovers weeping on the far-away shore
Well out on the briny with a moon big
out from that little one room and kitchen youve got. Its owned by my good friends in Cayman National Bank, so we have already moved out your stuff,
see in his eyes hes practically dead
That image stuck in my head
A soul killed by the keepers of peace
Is this the wave vengeance I'm supposed to feel?
one two many
Is still a decent number for the breeding of a beast
With no release, she keeps and teaches no remorse
More resembling of a thief than
I’m warm-ups, shorts, jeans, and boots
And the only thing I rap about is beats and rhymes
We think deep by design, you should read my mind
‘Cuz yours is
She opened up the letter from Nashville Tennessee
He said hon they like my music the songs I wrote for you and me
The boys and me just cut a record
Thank god for country girls
She was all by herself sittin' at a corner booth
Wearin' a summer dress and a pair of cowgirl boots
I heard her hummin'
All you Al-Chidas will pay for this
(gay shit) suck my balls
In this game we're playing for keeps
So all you faggots better keep your receipts
Cuz it'll
All you Al-Chidas will pay for this
(gay shit) suck my balls
In this game we're playing for keeps
So all you faggots better keep your receipts
Cuz it'll
Oh yeah I'm fed up
We need more justice for the people
We can't let up
A country ran by (whites)
It's a set up
Allah watch over your people
on others
That demands your own rights as well as the rights of others
And be willing to fight for this right, you have my blessing
You ask that I not
To change, to prosper and to succeed
So if your success is measured by your money
Then the city is the place where you should be
Because the country people
hungry (okay)
Do this shit for everyone that love me (okay)
'Til we fuckin' up the planet and the country (okay)
Hurry up, deliver my bread to me
and arranging everything we've done, they ain't country son
Lord have mercy on the new generation of kids
If they ain't reading by the age of three then lord
a four-lane that leads to the mall
And our dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall
I'm wondering what it will take
For my country to rise
First we
boyfriend's your boyfriend
My boyfriend's your boyfriend
While you riding on his dick
Riding, riding on his dick bitch!
Whoop!
Country boy really
Know how
where my nephew makes honey
Out of old orange peels and plastic out of old BandAids
I'm talking about a country where the sun never sets"
"I'm talking
don't search for the keys
I be breaking the doors
They can keep their keys
That shit is useless to me
And it wasting my time
Time, wait for no man
And I
wheat'll beat your feet through the holes in the floor but
We didn't mind, naw we got by, we were raised on rust
We never had a nickel to our family name
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