Down south, we the mob, tracks spinnin' at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffin' 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 buyin' farms and shit
Didn't see no gangsta's flexin' 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 tellin', we on Instagram Live
I don't know no famous people on this side of the pines
Nappin' good in my hood, my door unlocked all the time
Black Benz, black belts, black suit, black Uzi
Rollin' like George Bush, CIA when I'm movin'
You can't even touch my shoulder when I'm sittin' in the movies
Real life, one that spins and gets produced into a movie
Down south, we the mob, tracks spinnin' at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffin' 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 bein' stressed, no cap
I feel like talkin' shit to many men, "Go and get the strap"
And then I send like 50 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 lookin' at me like, "Who the fuck, the new guy?"
He pulled up in that Hellcat, lifted, sittin' on them 35's
Gold Vols chain, VBS, Mark Twain
And I'm workin' 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 spinnin' at the top
In the backwoods, with the Backwoods puffin' 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
