Real outlaw

(Country Rap Diss)
You steady yelling outlaw, but who you tryna be?
I’m boots-on-the-dirt, you just boots on a beat.
Talking big smoke from a TikTok throne,
I’m raising real kids while you raising your tone.
Yeah I heard Upchurch on the track talking loud like thunder,
But lightning don’t strike when the roots ain’t under.
You got a camo hat and a catalog flex,
I got calloused hands and unpaid checks.
I ain’t built in a studio booth with a brand-new chain,
I was forged in the heat of that Texas rain.
Gravel in my veins, diesel in my lungs,
You rap about the sticks — I was born in ’em, son.
You shout “country!” like it’s something you own,
But country ain’t a trademark stamped on a phone.
It’s 5 a.m. grind with the frost on the wire,
It’s feeding your family, it’s sweat and fire.
Yeah your beats knock hard and your fans scream loud,
But real don’t beg for a digital crowd.
I don’t need views, I don’t need fame,
Just a full tank, straight aim, and my last name.
You Hollywood rebel with a southern drawl paint,
I’m blue-collar gospel, I live what you ain’t.
You trend for a season, I stand like a pine,
Deep East roots running thicker than mine.
So keep your spotlight, keep your hype train rolling,
I’ll be backroad king with the long hood glowing.
When the dust settles down and the fake gets shown,
You wont be performing —
And I wont be home.

Country rap