Funky Shit

[Intro:] Sitting in the back (Oh my god) S-Sitting the back (f-f-f-funky shit) [Verse 1] Peanut butter jelly box, sitting in the carport 808 crack, and I'm open like a barndoor Beer bottle cap, put 'em in the floor Set 'em in the floor, what a metaphor is this? Kind of like I do a beat with Travis Eat it up, beat it up, work at the atlas Where should I go? Put 'em in a cereal bowl In Alabama, then I holler out "Cheerio" Look at that shit, pull the gun back like elastic And let it go like a mac clip S-Sipping on the green bottle, like I'm saint Patrick Got beans in the mattress, magic Make you want to jump on a fat bitch Ooo got to have it (boss) Yelawolf, pick a thing On a pekingese bitch, go go gadget (Owh) I'm all the way from the gutter Flick a cigarette butt from a Chevrolet pickup Geeked up on 7 Up Gotta turn the beat up while I run up on it like a cheetah Wanna ride a beat, right above, that’ll be the day Put you up shit creek, paddle it away Hat to the side Holler at you homie What's the matter with you babe? [Hook:] Sitting in the back with the bass on boom Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom American classic, trashy tunes L.A. to Alabama, from noon to noon They saying, (oh my god, that's some funky shit) (Oh my god, that's some funky shit) (Oh my god, that's some funky shit) Oh my god, that's some funky shit [Verse 2:] And I'm a Beastie Boy Airwalks and a bowl cut Skater when a skater wasn't cool When it was just, "so what? Fuck you dude" Well fuck you too Get your melon cracked with a backpack I'll bust your fruit I'm all about constructing my paper Kind of like a pocket full of Elmer's Glue Squeeze the bottle, turn the milk Churn the butter, get the cheese tomorrow I got a lock on my profit No exits, no keys tomorrow But I got steeze to borrow Some Famous kicks to match If I got a bass line, I'll rap As long as TB got sticks to crack So hit a drumroll, I'll jump in like a jump rope Watch Acapella like an elevator, operate the fader while I operate a label then I’m in my fuckin' high tops Rhythm like a clock, hop scotch You would've thought, it was written But it's not Rag hanging out the back of them jeans Not a gangbanger but a cracker who sings And momma don't you worry about a single thing Really though, cause daddy brought charcoal, and gasoline And we cooking up tonight, t-bones, pinto beans [Hook] [Verse 3:] Yeah, why stop now? Put 'em in the trunk Let 'em feel the sound That they don't pop it Let 'em feel the rhyme till he finds the locket 808 weighs a ton, so drop it Watch your feet, while I rock the beat Going all out, no privacy I don't walk if I can ride the beat But wouldn't you though? Don't lie to me Of course you would, catapult syllables Got up on my horse in the woods, whoa Magical, sorcerer goods Steal from the rich put more in the hood Natural, born with a wood Fuck 'em all, I'm right above 'em all Drink a Bud tall, get a buzz and fall Outrun with a motherfucker with a sluggish crawl Chug till I can't chug at all Not a frat boy, I'm a rap boy In Hollywood, like Aykroyd But I read my script with a southern draw I run home when mother calls Cause mother's got a switch Yeah, she's a wolf too That makes me a son of a bitch [Hook]