Honky-Tonk Despiration

I got a Chevy on twenty-fours,

Parked outside the liquor store,

Got a cowboy hat from Walmart,

And a Glock— I mean, guitar—in the back of the car.

I used to spit bars, but they said I was trash,

So I traded my microphone for a can of Skoal cash,

Now I’m down at the honky-tonk, two-steppin’ wrong,

Tryna make a country hit, but my accent ain’t strong.

I got boots, bricks, and backroads, baby,

Moonshine dreams and a truck that’s shady,

Got a girl named Becky and a dog named Slim,

If this country thing don’t work, I’ll go back to the gym.

I’m ridin’ through the holler with my windows down,

Throwin’ gang signs—wait, that’s a peace sign now,

I don’t know what I’m doin’, but I’m country as hell,

Y’all buy my album ’fore my rap career fails.

Got a twelve-pack sittin’ in the passenger seat,

Got mud on my tires and snakes on my feet,

Bought me some overalls, cut the legs off my jeans,

Now I look like a farmer who sells stolen machines.

My cousin said, “Boy, you ain’t from the South,”

I said, “Shut your damn mouth—pass the corn bread out.”

I learned three chords on an old six-string,

And every single one of ’em sounds like the same damn thing.

I got boots, bricks, and backroads, baby,

Moonshine dreams and a truck that’s shady,

Got a girl named Becky and a dog named Slim,

If this country thing don’t work, I’ll go back to the gym.

I’m ridin’ through the holler with my windows down,

Throwin’ gang signs—wait, that’s a peace sign now,

I don’t know what I’m doin’, but I’m country as hell,

Y’all buy my album ’fore my rap career fails.

I tried to rhyme “tractor” with “back ya,”

Then I rhymed “whiskey” with “frisky,”

The producer looked at me and said, “Bro…

Maybe just play the banjo.”

So I said, “Fine, I’ll give it a shot,”

Picked it up and played one note—

Everybody started clappin’,

So I guess that’s my new hook.

I got boots, bricks, and backroads, baby,

Tried to be a cowboy, now the cowboys hate me,

Got a truck, got a chain, got a fake country twang,

And a record deal I probably won’t get again.

Yeah, I came from the streets, now I’m out here in the sticks,

Still can’t rap, but I can almost play “Free Bird” riffs,

So pour me up a whiskey, let that banjo ring—

I’m the worst damn country rapper ever heard of in this thing.

Yeah…

Country music, baby.

…I think I’m supposed to say “yee-haw” now.

YEE-HAAAAAW.