Lyrics:

Yeah they call me a cousin fucker**lf**They got some shitty insults**lf**Can''t match me on the track **lf**Because I think they smoking bath salts**lf**Just laying on that asphalt **lf**Looking dingy and cracked out**lf**[?] Whistlin'' Dixie, I run it in the south**lf**Shit I''m the Conor McGregor of country rap, that is evident**lf**I fuck around and get high **lf**And release a album by accident**lf**The more shit I put out the more haters become irrelevant**lf**I''m spitting fucking flames **lf**And don''t need kerosene to make it lit**lf**Shit I ain''t even in a lane**lf**I''m starting to build islands**lf**Won''t you come venture in my jungle **lf**Where I hang out with primates**lf**And I ain''t even went hard **lf**''Cause ain''t nobody made me irate**lf**My voltage at a 3**lf**Don''t make me crank it to a high 8**lf**Pissing off my competition **lf**But you won''t hear me go diss ''em**lf**''Cause it ain''t gon'' benefit me **lf**Unless their fanbase is a million**lf**I spit .45 rounds up in my sleep, **lf**Got bullet holes up in my ceiling**lf**My pillow soaked in black **lf**''Cause my saliva''s diamondback venom**lf**Yeah, I could be at your feet**lf**And you wouldn''t even fucking know **lf**''Cause you all playing the creep, son**lf****lf**All I hear is some songs about trucks y''all don''t drive**lf**With some verses ''bout hot girls you ain''t got in real life**lf**I hear ya blowing black smoke but you don''t even own a diesel**lf**I hear you''re country as they come but you ain''t hanging with my people**lf**So put your camouflage on, take a picture with some wheels**lf**Act like you''re working hard when you ain''t even got deals**lf**And don''t ask me for a feature, we do it different in the hills**lf**Yeah, we some rednecks for real**lf****lf**Man I looked up to artists **lf**That turned out to be some jokes**lf**That''s why I''m high strung like a two-stroke **lf**With a pulled out choke**lf**Yeah wing-wing on that Yamaha**lf**Chromed out 11 hundred**lf**So many punchlines on my album **lf**My front cover is a band aid, ho**lf**Anybody who wants these flames **lf**Need to purchase fucking Solarcaine**lf**I''ll burn you like a drug**lf**Hank Hill trying to sell your ass some propane**lf**I''m dumping stolen coal **lf**Through these swampy southern states**lf**Hauling ten tons of ass **lf**In this fucking Church train**lf**Blowing smoke through the sky **lf**Yeah baby I''m that guy**lf**Calling motherfuckers out **lf**But their numbers don''t climb**lf**''Cause I won''t ever say their name**lf**Even if they try to pay me**lf**I''m a pro with this shit **lf**These guys sound like they still in training**lf**Ain''t got no living**lf**Ain''t half of the shit they''re saying**lf**And people wonder why **lf**I jump in the pits, stay slaying**lf****lf**All I hear is some songs about trucks y''all don''t drive**lf**With some verses ''bout hot girls you ain''t got in real life**lf**I hear ya blowing black smoke but you don''t even own a diesel**lf**I hear you''re country as they come but you ain''t hanging with my people**lf**So put your camouflage on, take a picture with some wheels**lf**Act like you''re working hard when you ain''t even got deals**lf**And don''t ask me for a feature, we do it different in the hills**lf**Yeah, we some rednecks for real