Blue Suede

Down south we the mob, tracks spinning at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffing fog
Yeah, down south, we the ones
Mama don't raise bitches and I'm too fat to run
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Bel Air with the white walls, two tones on them joints
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Ay

They like ay, you the one who do that country shit
I tell 'em I'm the reason rappers out here buying farms and shit
Didn't see no gangsta's flexing John Deere
Before my gap-toothed ass got my shitkickers and came here
They say the game got levels but they ain't on mine
'Round here we ain't telling, we on Instagram Live
I don't know no famous people on this side of the pines
Napping good in my hood, my door unlocked all the time
Black Benz, black belts, black suit, black Uzi
Rolling like George Bush, CIA when I'm moving
You can't even touch my shoulder when I'm sitting in the movies
Real life, one that spins and gets produced into a movie

Down south we the mob, tracks spinning at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffing fog
Yeah, down south, we the ones
Mama don't raise bitches and I'm too fat to run
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Bel Air with the white walls, two tones on them joints
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Ay

I been so stressed out, I stopped being stressed, no cap
I feel like talking shit to many men "Go and get the strap"
And then I send like fifty back, I never pushed a drug, that's fact
But I shot guns my whole life who gon' dust me like a Swisher wrap?
This hellbilly dangerous 'cause my skill level too high
Wish a cracker would, if they did they'd be two-ply
Hip-hop looking at me like "Who the fuck the new guy?"
He pulled up in that Hellcat, lifted, sitting on them thirty-five's
Gold Vols chain, VBS, Mark Twain
And I'm working so hard they think I love cocaine
But even if I did, I'm a boss I don't explain
I just mean mug you crackers with a face like Major Payne
Church

Down south we the mob, tracks spinning at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffing fog
Yeah, down south, we the ones
Mama don't raise bitches and I'm too fat to run
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Bel Air with the white walls, two tones on them joints
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Blue collar, blue bills, blue suede on your boy
Ay