Huckleberry

(álbum: Parachute - 2019)

Son, I've been in the woods for like a week
Smoking weed and getting back to myself
Hehe, ha ha ha, yeah
Church
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy

Get the Yoder, load the axes, chop the world right off it's axis
I stumbled up in this bitch and I ain't even need no practice
Babe Ruth is foul ball, son you know I'm always catching those
Amphibious with flows like I run the game with webbed toes
Yeah there that boy go, rooster necklace all gold
Diamonds in that mug cost more than the truck he drive yo
Damn straight motherfucker, my career come from the dirt
The same grain I got them maters from to add to my Bud Light son
Don't get me piped up, Chattanooga shine son
Getting drunk like a farmer, put the V8 in the mud
Fuck it, let it get stuck, get the tractor for the truck
Life's a wench in a rut, if you gotta crank it up

I'll be your Huckleberry, I'll be your dark and scary
I'll be your man of the hour, Mr. Church don't sour
And I'll be those KC lights in a poor boy's truck
Granddaddy's gun in a 1500
A son of a bitch and a crazy motherfucker

Man I love that feeling of blue lights on a Friday
One lane, one way, no way, roll a J
In my Carhartt toboggan, and I be flexing like my driveway
It's a runway, fuck Hollywood the long way
I got dirt in my nails and there's nails in my dirt
Run barefoot behind me and your feet gon' hurt
My little piggy hit the market, your little piggy look whacked off
Y'all country but can't even get the blade up in the hacksaw
Chop wood for the Gram let the wood get wet
I got bricks stacked up, with a tarp on it bitch
If you see me swinging the axe it ain't because of bonfires
It's 'cause I went crazy and live in a house made of cross ties

I'll be your Huckleberry, I'll be your dark and scary
I'll be your man of the hour, Mr. Church don't sour
And I'll be those KC lights in a poor boy's truck
Granddaddy's gun in a 1500
A son of a bitch and a crazy motherfucker

Mu-Mustang like a Socs, leather jacket like Dally
Outsider of my town, switchblade in my jacket
They don't make that soda pop pop, no carbonation added
River water in my veins to muddy water I'm an addict
Raising hell like I planted devil seeds then I grew it
Oh wait that's weed, hah damn I feel stupid
Devil's lettuce on the ranch I wish the ghost could be some peppers
Peter Piper picked a Chevy, now his truck is full of bad bitches
I'm rocking rags up on these riches
Built my house in all these ditches
Instead of leaving my home town
I settled down and now I fucks with it
It's Mr. Cheatham County, talk slow, rap fluid
Spit flames so much you think I drink starter fluid

I'll be your Huckleberry, I'll be your dark and scary
I'll be your man of the hour, Mr. Church don't sour
And I'll be those KC lights in a poor boy's truck
Granddaddy's gun in a 1500
A son of a bitch and a crazy motherfucker