Buck Fugitives Clash

Yeah,

y'all talking about the dirt roads

But you never left the pavement (haha)

You put a cowboy hat on a studio pop track Talking 'bout

a tractor that you don't even pack Yeah you fake,

boy, fake in your designer boots Got no dirt on your hands,

got no southern roots

Bought a brand new truck just to park it in the driveway

Never seen a day of work,

rolling down the highway Spitting sweet pop lines,

calling it a country song Man,

you wouldn't last a minute where the real ones belong

Got your silver-plated belt buckle,

looking real clean

But you're the softest damn rapper that I ever seen

(get 'em)

You put a cowboy hat on a studio pop track Talking 'bout

a tractor that you don't even pack Yeah you fake,

boy, fake in your designer boots Got no dirt on your hands,

got no southern roots

You write a verse about sweet tea and fishing in the dark

But you're scared of the woods when it starts getting dark Your

producer built your image in an office out in Nashville I'm in

the deep mud, making sure the glass fills

With the real sour mash,

no artificial sweet flavor Stop acting like a outlaw when you're begging

for a favor (man,

shut up)

Take the boots off,

boy. You ain't country.

(hahaha) Yeah, keep hiding behind that banjo track.