Lyrics:
pumpkin
Grip her neck while we be hunchin'
And she like when I talk country (who you is?)
Big speaker, yeah, big shit talker, ho
Have yo' cash
by a fishin' hole
That's how country boys roll
Yeah, they work, work, work
All week 'til the job gets done
Weekends they barbecue
And have a cold one
You're getting way too big for your boots
You're never too big for the boot
I've got the big size twelves on my feet
Your face ain't big for my
You're getting way too big for your boots
You're never too big for the boot
I've got the big size twelves on my feet
Your face ain't big for my
get sticky
And my four wheels come with road kits, I got Elliott like I'm Missy
Stack my bread up, cut the corners off, it ain't no way you could diss
country girl what I got to give
My whole heap and hep of country fun,
Full of four wheel drive, dirt road and shotgun
Ain't nothing better than being out in
the lord for it
Yellow tussin bussing and me just pour a four of it
Big body bim and me just spill a four innit
Bitch come fuck cause you head too boring
make a city boy turn country.
Hook
I met her in a small town where they mud race every day , them big ooh Pretty brown brown pretty brown eyes they
know where my feet landing
Floatin on this shit
Sippin d'usse
Till I'm seeing 2
Seeing 3 maybe 4
Shortys by beside
Want for some more
Niggas praying
Buys a eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road
Third boxcar, midnight train
Destination, Bangor, Maine
jeans
I'm a country girl
cnd I'm proud to be
Don't need bright lights
Or a big dream
Just one good decent night of sleep
c gentleman by my side
cnd
the difference
Between four-wheel drive
And all-wheel drive
I could invite Tom Cruise to my party
And he would act like a normal person
I could put in a USB stick
I move to the big city, to make a little better money, then get back home.
Now here I am living in a little sub-division, surrounded by steel
up. Down a laid-back gravel road. We light it up and we live it up out in the country where we're from.
We're up and gone for the rooster crows.
ears have ever known
Just an old fashioned feeling in my bones
Country comforts and the road that's going home
Down at the mill they've got a new
of a master
You never thought you'd be bodied by a bastard
A bachelor who backspin on breakbeats
Break necks of broke souls who hate me
Hate he? you can't
and rumbled roads
Now, can you hear this
Magic grumble grow
We move like the drums
Tic-tac and bumped a toe
Spit facts with swift raps
Untouchable with syntax
Buys a eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road
Third boxcar, midnight train
Destination, Bangor, Maine
He loves muddin' through those red dirt roads
In torn blue jeans, muscle shirt and four by four
She loves shopping in them high class stores
With all
is here
safe in bed while my country hits me
want to go out
like a horse and a breakness
[music break]
one, two, three, four
From Little Big Horn
And a Country boy can survive
'Cause you can't starve us out, can't make me run
Hey there boy, I got a big shotgun
We say grace, and we say Mam
If you ain't
fishing in the spring
I go hunting in the fall
I got an eight point buck
And a big ole bass
Hanging on my wall
Unapologetically Country
(Turn Around)
again on next Sunday
Raised on it
Sang down that dirt road
Tom Petty Track Free Fallin
Tailgate, bonfire parties calling
Raise your hands up if you’re
I was born with a shotgun in my hand
I was raised up by a redneck old man
Country living small town raised
I was born I was born in the usa
I was
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