[Intro]
Yeah
DJ Klever
Yelawolf
MWA
Brian Jones on the beat biatch

[Verse]
Alright DJ come take the wheel
And I'll set this fucker off
Pull Catfish up by the gills
That's how I would do your jaw
You don't want no problem here
Not the line you want to cross
Take the rapper over here
And I'll feed him to the dogs
Just because, just be cau-tious
Look at you like, "Nah cuz..."
Mad cause we got bitches licking lips and throwing bras up
Got no time to talk, cuz
When I snap, it's all good
If I cut you down then best believe I'm throwing sawdust
Aw shucks
Aw fuck, I'm just playing, shut up
Fair warning not too subtle
I lay dormant but ooh brother
Got holy water like two puddles
And landslide the vampires are vandalized
With cans of Krylon damage and design
Sanitize the enterprise
The plan is amplified
Fans are effin’ tired
By the need, provided me
Allowing me to open the
Show is over, no promoter
Locally and overseas
Would tell you different, I'm a timebomb
Tick, tick, tick, tick, I'm an icon
Slumerican tossed the barbarian off the bar area
Plus the dyed hair blonde
Bitch over there, got her hips in the air
And her tits I'm aware, I'ma dip in a pair, I'ma lick on the set
That I'ma smash it, attack it, in the back till she's pissing the bed
Fist full of hair at your crib and a lawn chair, you got a visitor there
Face shot to the clear, she dropped on the legs, yeah, and I let her kiss on the head
Hold my beer, don't hold my breath
Hold my weight, showing flex
I'm so hard, diamonds envy 'round me
Look, I'm so cool, I got my own climate
Mountainous terrain to climb, no
You fuckin' with the hustle, need a rope
You want the vintage turquoise, Navajo
I stained that shit from stage at every show
Brad Spit, Matthew Mcconaublaze
Hollywood meets Elvis Messy
Pull up in a beat-up Honda that I stole to drunk drive cause I like Chevy's
Oh, here I go, no red carpet and no rope
Put me down there with my folk and let the Slum come strike a pose
I write my flows like a fighter
These are punches being thrown
To your nose, duck and jab
Leaving blood patterns on your clothes
I might be white ‘Hammed Ali
As-salamu alaykum, here for the feast
But I couldn't be a Muslim, that could never be
Cause I'm still pissin' in a barrel full of beez
Like a chair for a bear, I'ma need a bigger seat
To sit cross-legged, I swear I'm a Chief
Here y'all hoes staring at me
Better mourn the cow, bury the beef
I clip your wings like there's no air beneath a parakeet
Give you some rings around your eyes like I said marry me
Get to the bottom of it like Titanic, very deep
Make you a model puppet, like Jim Henson every week
Sesame Street, yes sir Big Bird
Leave 'em black and yellow like I live in Pittsburgh
Shit turds, with quick words, throw bricks of wit, this pick is yours
All my fans, they pump the fist, get lit, and flip the bird
All my jams, they bump and kick and I just stick the words
Like a tube of super glue does for model aeroplanes
If the music chooses you, add the wheels and glue the wings
Then the paint, then the strings, then from the ceiling it will hang
Collect them all, don't let 'em fall
Until the critics come and frame
You work in pictures then you switch up and you work on model trains
Just to keep 'em in suspicion like a pro, that's why I changed
So to all the people who supported me throughout the game
Over the years, I hope you like watching me grow
Yeah, Michael Wayne, Michael Wayne
[Outro]
Yeah, Ghetto Cowboy
5427 Hickory Park Drive off Bell Road
Antioch Tennessee
Via southside Alabama
G.A.D motherfucker
Trunk Muzik III