COWBOY THUG SOMETIMES
PG explicit outlaw country rap / Southern trap / gritty male vocal
[Intro – spoken]
Yeah…
Down South, we ride a little different.
Hat low, saddle high.
You hear that rattle, you better look twice.
[Chorus]
Yeah, I ride high, up in the saddle,
Hand on the bridle, ear tuned for a rattle.
Copperhead slid out, thought he wanted battle,
But that buckshot made his whole world scatter.
Yeah, I ride high, reins in my grip,
Six-shooter sitting heavy on my hip.
Not an outlaw, but I ain’t the nice guy,
I guess that’s why they call me cowboy thug sometimes.
[Verse 1]
Down South we ride high, leather creaks when I move,
Dust on my boots, got nothing to prove.
Hand on the bridle, eyes cutting through the brush,
Heard that tail shake, then the whole world hushed.
Copperhead coiled up, thinking he was bad,
But he picked the wrong cowboy on the wrong damn path.
Six-shooter on my hip, but that ain’t what he got,
Buckshot rang out, then the dirt got hot.
Dropped him off with an old Indian man,
Cough in his chest, knife in his hand.
Next time I seen him, I had to laugh,
Snake-skin boots walking clean through the grass.
[Chorus]
Yeah, I ride high, up in the saddle,
Hand on the bridle, ear tuned for a rattle.
Copperhead slid out, thought he wanted battle,
But that buckshot made his whole world scatter.
Yeah, I ride high, reins in my grip,
Six-shooter sitting heavy on my hip.
Not an outlaw, but I ain’t the nice guy,
I guess that’s why they call me cowboy thug sometimes.
[Verse 2]
Yeah, I ride high when I’m gripping them reins,
Cocked back riding, been doing my thing.
Little whiskey, little smoke with my cowboy folk,
Talking big stories while the barroom floats.
Down at the pub, just cutting a rug,
Dust on the floor and a little mean mug.
Sometimes they call me cowboy thug,
Sometimes I don’t give a fuck.
Yeah, you know how I ride, saddle high in the night,
Not out looking for trouble, but I don’t walk light.
More like a wise guy you don’t want to try,
Boots in the dirt, but the spirit stay fly.
[Bridge]
Cleanest heat, keep that Colt .45,
Oiled up neat, sitting ready on my side.
Not showing out, just doing me,
A quiet kind of cold they don’t always see.
Gun smoke stories, old scars talk,
I don’t bark loud, I just let boots walk.
Holster that Colt and I do it slick,
Give ’em that shrug like, “Boy, don’t trip.”
[Final Chorus]
Yeah, I ride high, up in the saddle,
Hand on the bridle, ear tuned for a rattle.
Copperhead slid out, thought he wanted battle,
But that buckshot made his whole world scatter.
Yeah, I ride high, reins in my grip,
Six-shooter sitting heavy on my hip.
Not an outlaw, but I ain’t the nice guy,
I guess that’s why they call me cowboy thug sometimes.
[Outro – spoken/sung]
Cowboy thug sometimes…
Not every day, not every night.
But when the dust kicks up,
you’ll know how I ride.
TribalEcho
