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upchurch - e.d.k.h lyrics

[intro: upchurch (lacquer thinner larry) & katie noel]
tell ’em what’s up fuggin’
woo, yeah
f-ckin’ cornbread conner over there ’bout to f-ckin’ sling some mud boe

[verse 1: upchurch (lacquer thinner larry)]
f-ck ’em all got a goose in my glovebox
i’m wearin’ ariat’s and i don’t even wear socks
i tell them boys in the fancy ol’ truck hook ’em up
square body when i f-ckin’ square up (woo)
boot scootin’ buggy in my knee cap jeans
you got a gun but you’re scared of me
i be on a beat and i don’t even grow no tomatoes
you can’t touch me like a really hot -ss potato (woo)
walk around with my neck muscles flexed out
pocket full of money and some godd-mn rainbow trout
f-ck fishin’ license i don’t need that
hit the game warden smack dab in his little gonads
i’m lit’r than a truck on fire, swervin’
hotter than a distillery full of bourbon
nice twenty-two by fourteens, i hope you curb ’em
get some bullet holes son-of-b-tches do you some learnin’, fuggin’
mountain dew-dew on the haters like a commode
deliver bigfoot dust, that’s why i go beast mode
and they ain’t gonna catch me, camera man too slow
to be redneck’r than me, there ain’t no loophole
pullin’ up leakin’ oil ’cause i’m sl!cker
i must be a husqvarna i’m a tad big thicker
got a tootsie pop shawty, all i wanna do is l!ck her
i go hard not even my own p-ck-r is stiffer
i got a friend with a mullet, a friend with a musket
a friend with a chicken and some corn in a bucket
every time i see wood all i wanna do is chuck it
bonfire bigger than a rich guys house, fuggin’
rubber baby buggy bumpers down in jackson thumpin’ in my uncle brother’s hummer
dip stains on my steering wheel and all my covers
santa clause doesn’t know but rudolf got it comin’
last year i asked for a ’58 biscayne
all i got was an orange and a pack of rogaine
you give me all that coal you ain’t give me propane
now i got beef, i’m about to steal your sleigh
i listen to country music even when i sleep
i walk it like i talk it, i got boots in my t–th
my station wagon got a jesus fish
cut fender well’s on 40’s b-tch
big lift kit ’cause i’m closer to god
plus you gave me a ding-dong the size of an eddie bauer rod
skeet shootin’ with some buddies from my hometown
pistol packin’ that kaboom when we go downtown
’cause the weirdos on the corner look like sewer rats
seen a dude in plaid shorts sh-t his pants, that’s a f-ckin’ fact
i wasn’t even high, i ain’t even drink jack
but that fella who p–ped prolly coulda used a tater sack
eww diarrhea in his air force 1’s
if he was wearin’ tony lamas it wouldn’t have happened to him
alright back to the cool sh-t like i was sayin’
i want a mullet so long that it touches the pavement
i need a dukes of hazard car so i can smash all the daisy’s
but not like the cousin ones, i mean like non-blood related
b-tch i’m lacquer thinner larry sweeter than a blackberry
bald–ss head but my nipple still h-lla hairy
lookin’ like a dreamcatcher on a set of man t-tties
i’m a country boy, i don’t f-ck with the city
yeah, i’m a country boy morgan wallen on the speakers
ridin’ through town steady wakin’ up the tweekers
lacquer

[bridge: keefer slagle (bench seat bobby) & upchurch (lacquer thinner larry)]
tell ’em what it is bench seat bobby
guns, moonshine, and weed’s all you need, boe
might be a little dust on this bottle fuggin’

[verse 2: keefer slagle (bench seat bobby) & upchurch (lacquer thinner larry)]
slim note jimmy though i drink like buffett
i’ve been chillin’ with the b-tches, ’bout a couple hundred dozen
they pour the jim beam all up in my gullet
tryna get me drunk so they can play with my mullet
ridin’ in the camry son, i rip the e-brake
take it to the curb slidin’ sideways (skrrt)
then i turn it around and i take it back to my place
put her -ss on the couch then we hit a three way woah (d-mn)
b-tch i’m patriotic, bleed red, white, and blue
if you ain’t about this country well mother f-ck you
your cousin hit me up, i nutted, cashew
think i caught something, hold up, -ah choo-
ain’t nothin’, ain’t muckin’, i stay sam huntin’
skinny jeans with cope rings on you fake mother f-ckers
big sh-t and big rigs rather be like truckers
lift kits and bit t-ts, eat a b-tch like supper
i hide my face so the cleanse can find me
next day you’ll find me suicided from a pine tree
i turn around to see what’s behind me
a fat booty chick, plump lips, a dime piece (a huge b-tch)
i’m here, i’m there, elf on the shelf
got bars by the load tucked under my belt
tongue kissin’ your b-tch d-ck her down then she melt
one more thing, epstein didn’t k!ll himself
bobby

- upchurch lyrics

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