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Yeah,
yeah Welcome to the real dirt,
son.
Out in the mud,
we don't play by the rules Stacking up bodies of the preppy
little fools Got a twelve-gauge loaded under the bench Smelling like diesel
and a ditch-water stench I don't give a damn about your city-boy
talk I'm a backwoods bastard with a heavy-ass walk (damn right)
This is the redneck anthem,
raise up the glass Tell the city sheriff he can kiss my
ass We got the moonshine cooking,
smoke in the trees Living like outlaws doing what we please (yeah)
Cops on the trail but they can't cross the creek I been
running this line every day of the week Got a dirty mouth,
dirty boots, dirty-ass life And I'll sleep with your sister while I'm
dodging your wife Just a lawless son of a gun with a
plan Sticking both middle fingers to the working-class man (hahaha)
They wanted clean lyrics,
they wanted radio play But I'd rather
go rot in the swamp today
Yeah, let 'em try to clean this up.
This is the redneck anthem,
raise up the glass Tell the city sheriff he can kiss my
ass We got the moonshine cooking,
smoke in the trees Living like outlaws doing what we please
(yeah) Yeah. Mud on the tires.
Dirt on the boots.
Stay wild, y'all.