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P-p-p pass the boota, pass the boota |
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Cause I wanna get, p-p-p pass the boota |
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P-p-p pass the boota, cause I wanna get off |
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All the f**kers that are tryin to dis the kid rock |
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You can get shot, but first I'm gonna get hot |
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When it comes to rhyms I got a new caddy |
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Cause you got about as much flavor as a f**kin rice patty |
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Babe, ahh don't quit your day job |
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It lights the way ahh |
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But on the mic I'm god |
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And workin hard for your moneys what I x'ed hoe |
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Cause I wont sell my soul for some wax dipped in cheap gold |
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Par 4 motherf**ker whatcha gonna do |
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1 wood 7 iron and I'm on the green at 2 |
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With 1 putt I lyin a birdy in the hole |
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I drive the show putt for dough |
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So give it up hoe |
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I get a lot of funny looks |
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I ain't stealin your music, my man |
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I ain't to f**kin crook |
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Your playin dummy with your pride |
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And you cant tell me shit about a funny vibe |
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And all that jive your preachin, it's borin |
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God saved my soul, you save the f**kin rain forest |
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And I'll meet you in hell |
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The prodigal son kid rock I rock well |
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(only time will tell) |
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Well it's been coast from the midway |
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Smokin grass and sniffin lines |
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And at first glance you wouldnt guess no |
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I even make my own homemade wine |
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Moonshine, red wine, stir it up, drink it up |
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Roll it up, light it up, toke down, pass around |
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Cut it up, light it up, sniff it up, rock it up |
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Gimme a pipe and I just might smoke it |
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Object it, sellect it, clean it, protect it |
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Suck it in, tie it up, stick it and inject it |
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All night, that's right, pop it drop it |
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Set it on your tongue and then trip til you peak |
