Hillbilly Homeboy - текст песни
Hillbilly Homeboy
(Spoken) Tim Daddy was a gangster rapper
From the mean streets of Atlanta Georgia
Sittin' on his couch one day, watchin' BET Network
When suddenly his TV set went on the blink
And he ended up watching Bill Dance Championship Fishing
His life changed
And this is that young man's story...
He left the inner city and moved to the hill
Traded in his crack pipe on a moonshine still
His gang bandanna sure looked bad
But it's the only color that the bait store had
No more Tupac Shaqure or Biggie Small
Now it's cow manure on his overalls
Surrounded by fiddles and a lot of George Jones
(Goodbye Puffy Combs!)
Hillbilly homeboy
Your posse wants to know what's up
You done dissed the sistas in the West Coast crew
For some bubbas with a spit cup
You got a sad little crib in the hillbilly hood
There ain't no booty calls back in the woods
Hillbilly homeboy
When ya gonna come back home
He's got curb-feelers on his 4-wheel drive
His comb liquor tastes like Colt 45
We hear you started hanging with some hillbilly hos
Throwin' engine block parties for a bunch of Jethros
It's hard to pump up the jam to Allison Krauss
When there ain't no electricity in da house
You can't bust a move to some crooked sounds
(Goodbye Bobby Brown!)
Hillbilly homeboy
Your posse wonderin' where you at
"We hear you're dressin' like Ed from Hooterville"
And homey, what up with that
Your grandmother misses you and so do we
We're thinkin', "Damn you must be trippin', G"
Hillbilly homeboy
When ya gonna come back home
(Spoken) It ain't easy being a fish out of water is it, G?
We'll help you load up the old low-rider and head on back to the crib..
Peace out!
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