Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Don't want a Porsche, don't want a Ferrari.
I want a Grizzly, I want a Harley.
I want a 440, 6.7-pound stroke diesel F250
with a lift kit on it.
I want to hop off a planet, just land somewhere.
Have a farm or some land somewhere.
Couple cows, couple dogs, couple barns,
and some brand new green John Deere.
I want to make them all mad.
All of the people who told me I'm wack.
Roll in my high school reunion,
I'm wearing all black.
Cowboy boots and a camo hat.
Whole lot of jewelry on.
Whole lot of grapefruit pommes.
Don't know what you be on, but I be gone,
and I be on my own wave.
Black bro straight,
watch a cowboy just ride away.
Hey,
I got red, white, and blue diamonds
dancing on my neck like Billy Ray.
Where I'm from, you don't get out.
Stay here till you're six feet in the ground.
Worked the same job for 35 years.
Had five grandkids.
Watch them in the front yard running around like,
is this that good life?
Praying goodnight,
missing the good times,
said too many goodbyes.
This that move out the suburbs.
This them dirty-ass cuss words.
This that back to your hometown 12-hour
shift in the sun type of tough work.
This that you don't want to end up like your daddy because he's mean,
alcoholic,
and he's bitter about life.
This that pay off all your loans,
move away,
get a job,
and come back someday when you got it all right.
This that F350,
12s in the back as we ride through the city.
Playing Tim McGraw,
but I'm feeling like Dee Dee. Oh,
Lord Jesus,
please forgive me.
This that real raw country rap *.
This that West Virginia trap *.
This that get caught in the holler,
talking crazy,
get your ass kicked.
I'm planting my seeds.
I'm back to my roots.
And I F350,
but I'm driving it like it's a coupe.
And I F350,
but I'm driving it like it's a coupe.