Lyrics:
down-home good ol boy
A woman loved him through it all
Through his rowdy days and his hardest fall when he almost died
She stayed by his side
She's
wouldn't take it very good
So I fiddle when I can and I work when I should
Thank God I'm a country boy
Well I got me a fine wife I got me ol' fiddle
charm
Thank God I'm a country boy
Well I got me a fine wife I got me an ol' fiddle
When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle
And life
I miss the good ol' days
I was nine, wasting time
Miss the good ol' days
Wit my boys, watching vine
I went through a phase
I went through a phase
named Screw
And I got that boy Key-C in here
And that boy Poyo in these hoes' ear
And we coming through wit that boy Fliggity Flea
Coming out the 3,
named Screw
And I got that boy Key-C in here
And that boy Poyo in these hoes' ear
And we coming through wit that boy Fliggity Flea
Coming out the 3,
of money.
Like I say ol' Jack Johnson he was a pugilist,
He was a pugilist by preference and by profession
And one day ol' Jack came walkin' on down by
tell me what's good?
Yeah, I got shit to lose
Don't get shit confused, got shit to lose, yeah
Tell me something new
Bitches still on moves
Niggas
Poor ol’ Jimmy Biscuit
Was baptized by a pixie
Who drank a lotta whiskey
In the pub where he way born
Poor ol’ Jimmy Biscuit
Way married
Prolly mediating
Smoking Heaven fragrance
And I'm feeling like I'm on to better baby
People cannot phase me
I just cannot take it
Big ol ass then shake it
a niggas trunk is a nigga named Screw
And I got that boy Kici in heah
And that boy Poyo and these hoes heah
And we comin through wit that boy Flig-ati
Combined versions from Norman Blake and Doc Watson
A group of jolly cowboys discussing plans at ease
Said one I'll tell you something, boys, if you
Jimbo, boy, you're a croc of shit,
You're a boozed, selfish thug;
Why don't you give your mouth a go
And in the other hole put a plug?
By Christ
a niggas trunk is a nigga named Screw
And I got that boy Kici in heah
And that boy Poyo and these hoes heah
And we comin through wit that boy Flig-ati Flea
halfway there
We're old school, small town sticking around
Just like folks used to, good ol' boys and girls
Just falling in love, living the life, yeah
the stage, boy
Kymani, you a whole bitch
All your disses suck, bitch
Me and Marion, Foster, we got Bubba and Blake, too
Fuck Kymani and fuck Akondi
Both them
by you
Now you know I can never roll unless I got you
Gave me the vibes guess that's how you say I got you
In my lows I just hold you then the party is
but by kids I mean Blake
We even took the computer and the mic to the Lake
Put the bong inside the open case of the PC
We were larger then life they
win, oh, you'll win
Bet on Stewball, my boy, and you might win
Oh, the trumpet it did sound, and they shot off like an arrow
Ol' Stewball scarcely
our own whiskey and our own smoke too
Ain't too many things these old boys can't do
We grow good old tomatoes and homemade wine
And country boy can
our own whiskey and our own smoke too
Ain't too many things these old boys can't do
We grow good old tomatoes and homemade wine
And country boy can
I'll fuck you up right now, what? What? What? (Fuck you niggas)
Bust your motherfucking ass, boy
I ain't no motherfucking joke
You know who you
I'll fuck you up right now, what? What? What? (Fuck you niggas)
Bust your motherfucking ass, boy
I ain't no motherfucking joke
You know who you
a couple of good ol' boys, enjoyin' every season
With a fire in our hearts, and a fish in our hands
We're down in the bottom, and we're lovin' this land
We
.jpg/241px-Blake_Shelton_July_2017_(cropped).jpg "Blake Shelton"){kind=spacer}
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