Meth lab in the back
And the crack smoke peels through the streets
Like an early-morning fog
Momma’s in the slaughterhouse with the hatchet
Helping Daddy chop early-morning hog
I’m catching Zs like an early-morning saw
When I woke up to the racket, yawn and pause
What the fuck, man? I can never get sleep, man
Peeped out the window, what’s wrong with y’all?
Stood up in my Crimson Tide Alabama sweatpants
And threw my pillow
Looks like Daddy caught the motherfucker
That tried to sneak in and steal his elbows
They don’t know that old man don’t hold hands or throw hands
Nah, he’s rough like a Brillo
Went to the Chevy and pulled out a machete
And a gun as heavy and tall as that midget, Willow
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
11:30, and I’m pulling up dirty
Smoking babbage out the back of my buddy’s Monte Carlo
Spitting over some Supa Hot Beats
With a super hot freak we call “the parking lot ho”
You know we sipping on that old brown bottle
Bass in the trunk make the whole town wobble
So when we ride around, bitches follow
And tonight, one of them bitches is giving us problems
Well, one of them bitches
Been fucking one of my homeboy’s favorite bitches
And he’s been on his hit list for a minute
And I think he’s ready to handle his business
He told me “Yelawolf, get this”
And he handed me the Cartier watch that was on his wrist
He said “Watch this shit”
And he jumped to the trunk and grabbed his biscuit, biscuit
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
Two men stand, one’s gotta go
One falls down to the ground, one walks down to the road
Momma better call the police, now he’s screaming, “No!”
Took a buckshot to the chest
With a rock-salt shell, and he’s moving slow
All this blood has spilled
Enough to give a penguin chills
Hot enough to make a potato smoke
At the tip of the hollowed steel
In the valley of the hollowed field
In the valley of the hollowed tip
This ain’t a figment of my imagination, buddy
This is where I live! Bama!
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
Think he’s playin’?
You better listen what he’s sayin’, punk
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
He got an old Mossberg
In the Mossy Oak duffle bag laying in the back of the dump, boy
Don’t make me go pop the trunk
On you
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