Rolling Stone called me the most open-minded redneck on the block
'K, but I ain't the first good ol' boy to mix country with his rock
See, I grew up in a single wide with a poster of Kid Rock
And when you start out from the bottom, son, you scream when you're on top
From a muddy truck, to a shiny bus, to a twin turbo jet
The odds are always stacked against me but there ain't nothin' stopped me yet

'Cause I make money, I make music
I got swagger and I use it
Cowboy hat when I feel it
Feather in the back, Zebco reelin'
Skip from a Bentley to a 350
I wake up in the mornin' see how it hits me
At the end of the day I'm just a redneck boy in the hills of Tennessee
And I was raised not to care what people say about me
Uh, yeah
That's right, check it

See, I got the hottest women that this world has ever seen (damn)
And I married that girl on a farm in the country underneath a magnolia tree
A couple years went by and a demo of mine hopped on the radio
So we bumped it up to a master track and we took it out on the road
And before I knew it there was platinum records up hangin' on my wall
And I thank God every day I'm a member of the Grand Ole Opry, y'all

'Cause I make money, I make music
I got swagger and I use it
Cowboy hat when I feel it
Feather in the back, Zebco reelin'
Skip from a Bentley to a 350
I wake up in the mornin' see how it hits me
At the end of the day I'm just a redneck boy in the hills of Tennessee
And I was raised not to care what people say about me
Alright, uh

Offset
I got the baddest bitch in the game (bad)
Diamonds on her neck and wrist, make it rain (ice)
I eat Percocet, ease the pain (pain)
Hate it or you love it, I'ma pull up in a Range (hey)
Trap star, rock star, you can hear it in the guitar (hoo)
Oh God, this a Lambo' not a Mopar ('Par)
Fishtail doing donuts like a go-kart (skrrt)
There go twelve, hit the gas on a cop car
On my soul, I can tell when she looking for the gold
On my soul, I get the bag then I'm out the back door
Let the weed smoke blow
While I'm on the balcony in the robe
Black diamonds, it's a crow
Get the bread, gotta get it by the loaf

Skip from a Bentley to a 350
I wake up in the mornin' and see how it hits me
At the end of the day I'm just a redneck boy in the hills of Tennessee
And I was raised not to care what people say about me
Alright

We raised up on that Hank Jr. 83, son
Put your hands in the air, put your hands in the air
Now somebody scream Writer/s: Blake Anthony Carter, Chris Janson, Shy Carter, Tommy Cecil
Publisher: Anthem Entertainment, BMG Rights Management, Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Round Hill, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind