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upchurch - hi-deas 7 lyrics

[intro: upchurch & label representative]
-phone ringing-
h-llo
hey ryan, uh, we’re just wondering if you are coming in today about 4 o’clock. we really wanna getcha in and uh getcha goin’ with the team and uh
uh, you know
getcha in
i, i can’t, i got a really important meeting with these fat michelin tires and this f-ckin’ blunt
uh, can-can we?
no

[verse]
i woke up this mornin’ with a text, from a guy, at a place
that devil must have moved back from ga
i got invited to a meetin’, i got stoned and i showed up
and they gave me a piece of paper that said “you wanna come get f-cked?”
hey i like to play stupido and i put away torpedoes
then i save ’em when it’s time to go, i blow up battlefields
ayy, battleship, battleship, battleship, all my boats are f-ckin’ floatin’
they said we’ll get you in that lambo so i went and bought one
that 2016 huracan gonna look h-lla good on my independent -ss
own all my own masters, no teardrops on my drake beats and that’s hard facts
look what you made me do, you’ll need a swift tailor to match me
the weed burns in my hoodie down in the goat you’re f-ckin’ smashin’
you know it’s funny, and it’s easy to put on this fake facade
you couldn’t bullsh-t a country boy as bad as a millionaire and that’s f-ckin’ honest
i’m glad i stayed at the bottom, the top cannot come hang with us
i’m gonna text wrap lab at noon tomorrow and tell him i need mossy oak in this new car
i need duke orange on all the seats with a window sticker that just says
“my name’s on this f-ckin’ t-tle but not in your pocket man”
i don’t need no big machine, i created a huge engine
no push b-tton start, there’s screwdrivers in my ignition
so, whapah, whapah, who wanna race for the pinks?
i could lose all day and still drive home in something clean
and i’m still runnin’ the roads not controlled by the mainstream
i swear they send me contracts to eliminate mr. tennessee
check this out, in that case, here is my reply
f-ck every record label even ones my friends signed
you can’t persuade me with no condos and the viewin’ of your rides
this is where i take my shotgun and draw the floor at the georgia line
don’t take that step, it might be a trap
you might get burnt, you might get zapped
it might be a video of hi-deas soundin’ just like that d-mn haze ville track
you ride a coat, i drive a ford
you got the tires, i got the bow
i was born where these indians roam
i start fire with flint and make d-mn arrows
what the h-ll these people think?
that i’m just a p-wn in a chess game?
i got cheatham tatted on my chest
no jet lag, i’m a jet plane
no tv show promotin’ my name
no face plastered, no radio play
but i still make ’em mix up eric church
and what’s his name, that church man
’cause i stay preachin’ no walter stan, there’s a holy ghost as my side man
he’s a good profiler, spent plenty time gettin’ hated on in afghanistan
go army, no zombies, and we don’t build no barricades
we put lift kits on escalades and scratch up that beautiful paint
i’m white trash ballin’ call me billy ray virus
ain’t stoppin’ for n-body like some run flat tires
go ahead and sling the spike strip out i’ll really really go grab the mic
bruce wayne of nashvegas in that matte black rollin’ through at night
i’ve been a winner and a loser, i’ve been poor and now i’m rich
but i’ll be d-mned if all this money makes me act just like a pr-ck
i’d rather go to sleep hungry in the back of a buick
with the engine blowed up, gas on e, with coca-cola added to it
church, don’t forget the name, crooked grin, tobacco stains
tennessee t-tan bleedin’ orange with a black and tan beside my leg
country steak, fried eggs, sweet tea with no lemon bae
after this there’s no chance of me goin’ to the cma’s
well good thing i don’t give a f-ck, my livin’ room don’t got television
they must not have googled me and scrolled back to the very beginnin’
look guys, we did it, did it, god d-mn right, we winnin’, winnin’
no talk shows, no interviews, no airplay, we f-ckin’ did it
church

[outro]
yo, i didn’t graduate man. i used to hate on my f-cking self. i used to let people f-cking sh-t on me all the god d-mn time. not no more dog, the mastiff broke the chain link.
church

- upchurch lyrics

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