Lyrics to A Little Too Far
Last of a dyin' breed
True son from the South
I'm from if you backtalk mama
You get busted in the mouth
I'm from that rollin' bubble
In a clear glass jar
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
I got frog eyes in the pickle jar
The whiskey still still smokes like old cars
I got a half a pack of cancer sticks left
And I just iced down a thirty pack of regrets
Yeah, we shootin' polecats and catching channel cats
We like a throwback, like an old Johnny Cash track
So you can get a map, buy a magnifyin' glass
Look 'til your eyes hurt, but you won't find where we're at 'cause
We're gettin' dirty down an old dirt road
No city limits in sight
Yeah, go ahead and get a little sideways
Givin' it up tonight
Don't care too much for the drama
You can leave that shit at home
'Round here, we know how to throw it down
So let me tell you where I'm from, I'm from the
Last of a dyin' breed
True son from the South
I'm from if you backtalk mama
You get busted in the mouth
I'm from that rollin' bubble
In a clear glass jar
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
I still bowfish and go frog gigging
The viddles on my plate are all God-given
I roll Mossy Oak and mind my own business
Couple tokes of the green got me seein' night vision
I'm from the backside of the boondocks
Where the honeybees swarm in the treetops
Makin' what I need, and it's free, no cost
To get another honey 'shine batch brewed up, uh
Mama raised me in the church, but I quit goin'
Daddy's rebel blood's in me, and it's still flowin'
And it will 'til I'm ill and old
There's no one that can scold me
Until we've been simmer-simmerin' down
So, so put the Crown on the rocks and the beer in the chest
I've been called a mess, but I know that I'm blessed
Because out here is where my head rests
You gotta holler to find me 'cause Verizon can't hear me yet, yet
Last of a dyin' breed (Dyin' breed)
True son from the South (From the South)
I'm from if you backtalk mama (Backtalk mama)
You get busted in the mouth (In the mouth)
I'm from that rollin' bubble (Rollin' bubble)
In a clear glass jar (A clear glass jar)
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
True son from the South
I'm from if you backtalk mama
You get busted in the mouth
I'm from that rollin' bubble
In a clear glass jar
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
I got frog eyes in the pickle jar
The whiskey still still smokes like old cars
I got a half a pack of cancer sticks left
And I just iced down a thirty pack of regrets
Yeah, we shootin' polecats and catching channel cats
We like a throwback, like an old Johnny Cash track
So you can get a map, buy a magnifyin' glass
Look 'til your eyes hurt, but you won't find where we're at 'cause
We're gettin' dirty down an old dirt road
No city limits in sight
Yeah, go ahead and get a little sideways
Givin' it up tonight
Don't care too much for the drama
You can leave that shit at home
'Round here, we know how to throw it down
So let me tell you where I'm from, I'm from the
Last of a dyin' breed
True son from the South
I'm from if you backtalk mama
You get busted in the mouth
I'm from that rollin' bubble
In a clear glass jar
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
I still bowfish and go frog gigging
The viddles on my plate are all God-given
I roll Mossy Oak and mind my own business
Couple tokes of the green got me seein' night vision
I'm from the backside of the boondocks
Where the honeybees swarm in the treetops
Makin' what I need, and it's free, no cost
To get another honey 'shine batch brewed up, uh
Mama raised me in the church, but I quit goin'
Daddy's rebel blood's in me, and it's still flowin'
And it will 'til I'm ill and old
There's no one that can scold me
Until we've been simmer-simmerin' down
So, so put the Crown on the rocks and the beer in the chest
I've been called a mess, but I know that I'm blessed
Because out here is where my head rests
You gotta holler to find me 'cause Verizon can't hear me yet, yet
Last of a dyin' breed (Dyin' breed)
True son from the South (From the South)
I'm from if you backtalk mama (Backtalk mama)
You get busted in the mouth (In the mouth)
I'm from that rollin' bubble (Rollin' bubble)
In a clear glass jar (A clear glass jar)
Way back in the Mason-Dixon (Mason-Dixon)
Everything is a little too far, yeah
