Lyrics:
of the country
Now we come back for holidays and funerals
So much has changed but Wayne County's still the same
Driving down 191
There's an old memory
to having violent psychotic
Quick devour polish it, politics
By the way I'm higher than the Eiffel Tower tip
I like writin'
But I will stick this pencil
home first I guess and then Bob and then Tommy and then Dan
By then dad's hair was turning white and I sort of had to be mama's little man
But you
home first I guess and then Bob and then Tommy and then Dan
By then dad's hair was turning white and I sort of had to be mama's little man
But you
It was Labour day weekend, I was seventeen,
I bought a coke and some gasoline,
and I drove out to the county fair.
When I saw her for the first time,
down
I can take you there
And as soon as you step in that high school gym
You can point to the spot sat old man Tim
Came to every game from net to rim
raided the dope spot, eight year old kid got shot
'Cause they mistook his BB gun for a Glock
And I ain't forgot about the homie Lano
He got killed by
down the strip like a A.J. Foyt
Makin hip-hop that's been my job
I know a kid that rocks and his name is Bob
It's a long race and I'm winnin son
Sippin
A wise old soul once told us all
That there absolutely is no place like home
That doesn't really apply to this situation
But I thought it was
daddy left the proof on her cheek
And I was only eight years old that summer
And I always seemed to be in the way
So I took myself down to the fair in
So many times that my memories are worn
[Chorus]
And daddy won't you take me back to Mulenberg county
Down by the Green River, where Paradise lay
a boss
Stupid fruity swag, we say futuristic flavor
That make stupid swavor, I got stupid swavor
Clayton County shawty
Blowing kush up in the ay-er
Money
gone before the end of the night
And I promised not to tell her no more lies
(so if she asks)
Then the ward of Marshall county is a dear old friend
bossin' it don't matter what it's costing
Tossing deuces out the roof, but that coupe
While I ride by, players chucking deuces back
Bobs holl'in out "hi"
Steamboat Willie Bonnie Prince of
All this shit
You're like the king of a certain genre
But even you must want to
Quit like if you hear
A record by Bob Dylan
daddy left the proof on her cheek
And I was only eight years old that summer
And I always seemed to be in the way
So I took myself down to the fair in
vigorous
Stroke that nigga like a zig zag rolled cigarette,
And I do it to get my dick wet
Brain grain rotten, I was a 12 year old gettin' raped by my
to grab my old school tape
Mad with no music, but happy cause free
And the streets to a player is the place to be
Got a knot in my pocket, weighing at least
washed it with down
I ain't gotta life a finger turn his head into a bounty
I put on for my city Jacktown Hinds County
Free my niggas down the road
I grew up in farm country
Down this gravel road, 720
Ain't much pavement this far out
In the county
I used to fish off of these levees
I've got
And the blues fell, mama's child
Tore me all upside-down
Blues fell, mam's child
And it tore me all upside down
Travel on, poor Bob
Just can't turn you 'round
out of central bullets
County jails and the lock downs up north
Said I should have it if Scarface pass the torch
Thats how they feel Jack, built much
strutting down the street I got the groove and the swagger
Heading straight at ya then I ziggity zag past ya
And after I do the ziggity zag
Allow me to reach
of the old sheriff
Ha that boy fell down on his harelip -ow! Ow!
Well I I, might be wrong
But you you tag along
And we we all been wronged
And I get
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