Huckleberry

Son, I've been in the woods for like a week (true) Smokin' weed and gettin' back to myself Hehe, ha ha ha, yeah Church Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy Get the Yoder, load the axes, chop the world right off its 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 catchin' 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 Gettin' 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 feelin' of blue lights on a Friday One lane, one way, no way, roll a J In my Carhartt toboggan, and I be flexin' 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 ricks stacked up, with a tarp on it bitch And if you see me swingin' 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 Sodapop pop, no carbonation added River water in my veins to muddy water, I'm an addict Raisin' 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 rockin' rags up on these riches Built my house in all these ditches Instead of leavin' 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