[INTRO]
I came up where the dogs don’t bark,
Just teeth and chains in the pitch-black dark.
Arkansas hills, where the law don’t climb,
Where the bodies rot slow and the pines keep time.
I ain’t no myth, I ain’t no tale—
I’m Burlap, bitch, I bring the shell.
[VERSE 1]
Raised by rust and a .30-06,
Learned how to cook off a junkie’s fix.
Got b***d on the porch, brains in the sink,
Moonshine burn when the preacher blink.
I don’t talk peace, I don’t shake hands,
I got meth in jars and chopped-up vans.
Guttin’ rats with a buck k***e grin,
Kickin’ in doors where the squealin’ begin.
[chorus]
This that holler stain, that pig squeal prayer,
That red clay truth with a loaded stare.
I don’t rap, I confess through crime,
Burlap drag bodies through the pine.
This that hill-talk, k**l-walk, duct tape hymn,
Chains in the back and the law ain’t in.
Arkansas born, where the m****r drip slow,
Out here, we make death grow.
[VERSE 2]
Got a trap in the woods with a basement floor,
That creak when it open sound like w*r.
I seen men cry with a cross in hand,
Then piss theyself when I brand the brand.
Dope boy talkin’ like he knew my kin,
Now his tongue in a jar and his teeth in tin.
This Hollow don’t flex, don’t flash, don’t play—
We just wrap that heat and let it spray.
[chorus]
This that holler stain, that pig squeal prayer,
That red clay truth with a loaded stare.
I don’t rap, I confess through crime,
Burlap drag bodies through the pine.
This that hill-talk, k**l-walk, duct tape hymn,
Chains in the back and the law ain’t in.
Arkansas born, where the m****r drip slow,
Out here, we make death grow.
[VERSE 3]
Got shells in the dirt with initials wrote,
One for the sheriff, one for the goat.
Ain’t no badge gon’ sniff my route,
They end up hangin’ with their throat ripped out.
I’m a plague in boots, a sermon in grime,
Preachin’ that pain one shot at a time.
Got a .45 bible, and the scripture loud—
Come wrong once, I’ll bury the crowd.
[chorus]
This that holler stain, that pig squeal prayer,
That red clay truth with a loaded stare.
I don’t rap, I confess through crime,
Burlap drag bodies through the pine.
This that hill-talk, k**l-walk, duct tape hymn,
Chains in the back and the law ain’t in.
Arkansas born, where the m****r drip slow,
Out here, we make death grow.
[OUTRO]
Backwoods hymn, where the screams get wrote,
And the devil wear boots with a patched-up coat.
Holler stain deep, ain’t never comin’ clean—
This the gospel of Burlap, dirt in between.
[OUTRO]
Arkansas hills, I bleed what I preach,
And every c****e I drop, that’s another I teach.
No heaven for me, just the saw and chain—
I ain’t never been saved, I became the stain.
