Lyrics
Church!
(Let the band play)
Cheatham County
Cheatham County
Who-who-who the fuck am I, I'm the king of the hick shit
Boss of what I wanna be, accepted in all sticks
Yeah, I'm redneck ratchet like a strap on a YZ
Head all the way up like the little cracker OMB
I'm from a rowdy place that looks like Sleepy Hollow late at night
So, don't go runnin' out of gas, we ain't got trespassin' signs
My dogs run loose, yeah, they bite, I got like eight or nine
A chip up on my shoulder, hold it, load it, smokin' 45
Been through a lot of shit, I 69 your damn opinion
Hillbilly shit, yeah, my mama knew she raised up hellion
Age 16, I was sneakin' out, late night rebellion
Then she found them steroids in my bag and called the county sheriff
Ain't nobody perfect, damn near everybody makes mistakes
Don't come judgin' me unless you tryna get your teeth misplaced
Raised by them skins, creek water make my heart beat
Don't go walkin' in my woods unless you want that Voorhees
I'm from deep in the sticks where the mud gets thick (Cheatham County)
Deep in the sticks where the mud gets thick (Cheatham County)
So, don't come up in my spot tryna tread on me
I keep them flags flyin' boy and that lead on me
I'm from deep in the sticks where the mud gets thick (Cheatham County)
Deep in the sticks where the mud gets thick (Cheatham County)
So, don't come up in my spot tryna tread on me
I keep them flags flyin' boy and that lead on me
I'm a hick town rock star, scars, and ink cover my body
Surrounded by some sexy ladies lookin' like some supermodels
I'm NASCAR with my style, done lapped y'all like nine times
I'm Earnhardt in his prime
I sleep in the winner's circle since I tend to be there all the time
I do what I do for the folks like me
Wheels and the light stains on my jeans
Wakin' up, bust that clock at three
With a little bit of gas and enough to eat (eat, eat, eat, eat)
Everybody now facing that struggle, I'm about to bust your bubble