or
Yelawolf

Yeah, hell of a day to load a twenty two and take it to the woods and let it ring into the night
And break a bottle with the bullet, yes I'm 'bout it motherfucker
Not a single solitary thing is missing from my southern roots
I'm liable just to take a Chevrolet and run it through the mud for giggles
Huh, what a son of a bitch my momma raised into a rapper
That could tell story like my uncle when he's drinking
Product of a working enviro-nment, fuck is y'all thinking?
Meaning I'm working-working harder than any artist can ever do it simply
'cause I'm made that way
I build a house around your ass before you could realize,
That you were in the neighborhood that Yelawolf made
So call me a redneck and tell your boys about it, tell 'em I'm an Alabama wanna-be,
I be that, I'll just take it to the studio and drop a bomb on you from a motherfucking beanbag,
I need that

[Chorus]
Get away
Tell my folks roll up the J's
Bring Yelawolf a deuce, we'll sit up on the roofs of the broken Chevrolet
Talk til there's nothing left to say, cause if I don't get away
People will see my trailer park getaway, feign you will have to get away from me
Drink some, smoke some
You won't have to get away from me
Load up the guns, load up the guns
Feign you will have to get away from me
Drink some, smoke some
Cause if I don't get away
People will see my trailer park getaway, feigns you gon' have to get away from me

Man, I done been through it all
I'd a been up and know what it is to fall
Punk police feeling all on my balls
When I have probable 'cause I never stand tall
Dog, you gotta do something Fatt
Who would roll with Wolf, why you come back?
Cause them up there, don't want to play fair
Got me pinned to the wall like a fucking thumbtack
Dumb Fatt, dumb hell, criticize a nigga for the Crack I sell?
Like you could give a shit if a nigga eat well
Or eat at all, want to see me fall
Cause I see them all dog, them lines
Only cause I got Catfish on my side
Bitch I'm headed up, up to the sky
Roll up, let's get high
Wavin' them bye, I need that

[Chorus]

Twenty plus twenty still spittin' 'em out
Still piss on your porch and still shit in your house
They put my dick in your mouth
Take it back out, put it back in
Fuck on the floor, skeet on the couch
Which one of you ugly muthafuckers think you thug enough or rugg enough
Or gutter enough, fast enough to keep up wit’ me
The most retarded motherfucker in the whole wide world
Ain’t stupid or dumb enough to fuck with me
If you in say you in, and if you is handle your mutherfuckin’ business
Knuckle up, buckle up, hustle up, huddle up. What we gonna do? Win!
Not a nan’ ‘nother nigga outta there can compare
To what I do to these boys on these bars and these scales
In these clubs in these bars on these tables and chairs
I need that

[Chorus]

Written by Winans, Mario Mendell / Mays, Greg / Barnes, Otis / Roberts, William
Published by EMI Music Publishing, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Royalty Network, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE CLYDE OTIS MUSIC GROUP

Lyrics Provided By LyricFind Inc.