Back to the previous page

Artist: Yelawolf
Album:  Love Story
Song:   Whiskey in a Bottle
Typed by: 

Still on that ass like, handcuffs up in ya like hand-puppets, make a mute holla
You should've jumped in that Impala
Homie, refrigerators never seen +Ice Baby+, not +Vanilla+
Not a breeze on the hill'll make a flame, grab a chinchilla
Quite like the words I built up to, fuck guppies
I see food and I hush puppies
So give me that king, crab and I'll break his shell
You seen that? Well fuck him if he don't take it well
So crack the top of that hot, shakin ale
And say "Free Young Struggle" who's not makin bail
He got popped by the Feds, fuck the cops! Take an L
Fuck it, take M-N-O-P, learn how to spell
I'll pull up to the gate and will skate on these country faggots
And until then, fuck 'em, huh, they can have it
Slumerican means, Slum American breed
Gutter raised with worldwide dreams, yeah

[Chorus: Yelawolf]
Put your hands to the sky
I'm a bullet in the barrel with a hairpin trigger now
Yeah I'm a landslide
I'm a head case train wreck avalanche comin down
Put your hands to the sky
I'm a ready-made party, I'm whiskey in a bottle now
La la la la la la la la lahhhhh
I'm whiskey in a bottle now

Still on that gas like, the bottom of my signature shoe
'Bama red, I'm on that ass like Alabama did LSU
Goose egg, oh lord
Bible Belt raised, in your mouth like a cold sore
Roll Fords? Nah, Roll Tide and roll Chevy's
My momma rolls joints, smoke rolls off of the tip
Daddy's a rollin stone, I'm rollin in shit with these pigs
In the Southside, who you rollin with in the sticks?
With hair weawes and air streams
Cigarette stained walls, fuck, I can barely breathe
Spittin shutgun pellets out of my fuckin chili bowl
.. But am I a hillbilly? No!
I'm the truth behind these fuckin illusionists
Yellin redneck, you about as red as the color blue is
Call me a redneck, and I'll just tattoo it
Because of the abuse and I use it as therapy in music


Still on that grass like, John Deere's
This yard is already cut, you can't get no work here
Uhh, you fags thought it was swag you was stealin
It turns out, I got no peers
Just years of street smarts, so here you go retards
Come hit this bull's-eye, I'll give ya three darts
One, my last album flopped; two, it wasn't my time
Three, my fuckin momma sellin my pajamas online
(La la la la la la la la lahhhhh)
But guess what? (I'm whiskey in a bottle now)
Fuckin right I'm aged, I'm dirty-3
I'm not a child who plays with rap, to get a piece
Don't clap, for no MC who's wack, then get a free slap
Fuck out my car and I'm smashed, in a Caprice, I'm Jack
Sippin still, whippin wood wheels
Truck on steroids, illegal to play ball but damn it how good it feels
Drop that black card
Park in the back yard, baby fire up the grill
It's party time~!