louder Than a country music concert coming through Come tomorrow morning out in the parking lot There'll be fifty thousand beer cans on the ground And
this isn't Hell, tell me what can be Hell? as a core of a senseless life they just clock in each day where's my heaven? Life is Hell where's my soul
's for you Shotgun, fast lane, on the highway to hell Germ sticks, tall cans, and the powder that sells Just tryin' to have somethin', and you sit back
another hell The blindness we hide inside will make us carry more Empty cans and useless monuments of wealth And we could hold hands Bring back the
a mike to. The imperialists rub their hands in glee As the slave-boy hunts out butt-ends in the garbage cans. Is it any wonder there was such sickening
't got to prove shit to y'all So all y'all can lick the balls and keep walkin' Come on, yo, the derelict's back, I'm blazin' niggaz While they up in
check us out. Beats in the back seat blow, aw Turn the whole scene down. Still talking shit about Monday. The weekend is over now. Not meeting no one halfway. Amateurs, get the hell
sensor? Root down, feelers out across the marsh before it was ?Awesome Car!? I called in car cavalry cooked in an 85 Dodge Aries, gas for Huntington and back
or you carpe the diem Warplay the porn game Wanna get the sure way Well the freedom will correlate with the sword play and heathens Trickery I'm back
got to prove shit to yall so all yall can lick the balls and keep walkin COME ON [Verse 1 - Kuniva] Yo the derelict is back Im blazin niggas while
right behind you, Mad as hell, Nose flarin. Makin all those strange sounds, in ya face starin. Knockin over trash cans, breakin 40 bottles. Villian from
sky No reason why Why ask to pay yourself For the call of the wild You found this child So raise him And wind your back Come back to the river The currents
to a crucifix, whipped my chest Gambled for my rags, smoked my fags Carved up my back, hack, hack, hack Carved up my back, hack, hack, hack Carved up my back
to me that you're rough Enough to get into hell That you've got the style enough to get into hell So start talkin'... Alright, lemme tell ya somethin
my wackiest two bitches Look flayer than the hennas and the low rider bitches And we left you all in stitches now we back like early morn We comin' back
can't turn back I don't miss what I never had or what I lack Hard to hit a shot from the hip hot steamin' lead And I'm through getting fucked and giving head Hell
're dignified And happy in our Appalachian pride There's hell mud in the smoke house, some flower in the ban Molasis, cans and beans until crop comes in The kids back
on my shoulder and an eye full of rage. ca you taste that tbeer with your back to the bar. can you smell a cigarette without letting down your guard? ten cans