County Lines - Frosty

Man, these boys think they got me, ha-ha You ain't got shit son I'm the Lane Frost of this shit So bring ya ass on then (Hell yeah!) I'm on my country boy shit, hillbilly like it's Beverly Cherry red Chevy, lift kit about a couple feet Roots in my boots and I ain't gotta prove shit Follow me down to my woods boy and hop off in these sticks We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County boy Them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County Boy them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter When I started from the bottom, now ya honky got a buzz on Pabst Blue Ribbon, crankin' up a thumpin' country song Tailgatin', drinkin' beer, rollin' up that greenery Shootin' at the ducks while they passin' by my scenery I came up from nothin' now my face in more than 50 states Pedal to the metal, I ain't even go and tap the brakes And I ain't from the city, I'm from hollers, rivers, creeks, and lakes Redneck as it gets 'cause this boy ain't time to go and fake it Woo! Now let me pop that clutch Ain't your man with a plan though that always crunch I'm that motherfuckin' Hoss now with zero trust Rollin' through your damn city in this bucket of rust (Hell yeah!) We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County boy Them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County Boy them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter Nashville born, small hick town raised On the edge of Music Row, corn field, wind sways Ford, Dodge, Chevrolet, rust bucket, still blaze Everything gets dirty tryna pave that way I ain't never had a hand out, never had a pick me up Budweiser beer bottles breakin' in my pickup truck Chip on my shoulder, rockin' me a heavy farmers tan Honeys treat me lovely 'cause I'm popular on Instagram Haters say I'm fakin' shit, say I'm not famous, barely lit When I didn't have the management to make sure that I'm well equipped So fingers up and shots on me famous and I'm 23 Self-made son, country boy from middle Tennessee We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County boy Them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter We got clips, we got guns Drive them tires off in this mud I'm from backwoods Cheatham County Boy them three words say it all Droppin' bucks, makin' dollars Small town man, down from the holla Middle finger to the world 'cause America's my daughter (Hell yeah!)

Oh, pour me up a drink, there's a bottle and a seat I'm only halfway to crazy by now We're past that breaking point, past that road of choice And there ain't nothin' left in this town I thought by now I'd've figured shit out You and me, we got some bad reputations We dance 'round like thieves in the night I bet your halo could use some reconsideration But it's the only thing that makes this all right Heaven knows time ain't slowin' down Yeah, we still kick around Our same ol' stomping grounds And life, it'll pass you by As you drink all through the night Under a Houston County sky So roll me up a smoke, I'll take a toke for hope I'm only halfway to 80 by now You was a Peanut Queen, I was 17 and mean You wanted so bad to leave this town Ain't it funny how it all works out Ain't nothin' left but making love and raising babies There ain't nothing wrong with the simple life Hey darling, I love you, but the smoke is gettin' hazy Maybe we should just get drunk and fight Down at The Gin on a Saturday night Heaven knows time ain't slowin' down Yeah, we still kick around Our same ol' stomping grounds And life, it'll pass you by As you drink all through the night Under a Houston County sky Heaven knows time ain't slowin' down Yeah, we still kick around Our same ol' stomping grounds And life, it'll pass you by As you drink all through the night Under a Houston County sky A Houston County sky A Houston County sky

It's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Yeah, the grief is strong for the man that's gone And at the grave his woman cries and she moans 'Cause it's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones The six children he raised are all weepin' For this soft-spoken mountain man Who fed them with the money He earned in those black mines And the food he could raise with his hands It's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Yeah, the grief is strong for the man that's gone And at the grave his woman cries and she moans 'Cause it's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Though the world knew nothing of his wisdom Or the honest and simple things he did There's some folks cryin' on this hillside today That know about the humble way he lived It's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Yeah, the grief is strong for the man that's gone And at the grave his woman cries and she moans 'Cause it's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Instrumental Now this house in the holler stands empty Though his presence in my memory is plain You know that I'd swear that I just saw him walkin' up that hill I guess this place just won't never be the same It's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones Yeah, the grief is strong for the man that's gone And at the grave his woman cries and she moans 'Cause it's a sad day in Floyd County, Mr. Jones...