Welcome to Arkansas

[INTRO] Welcome to Arkansas, motherfucker. Where the mud runs deep and the b***d run thicker. [VERSE 1] Burlap born, I’m the backwoods breed, Got a twelve-gauge prayer and a methhead creed. I don’t knock—I k**k, with a steel-toe sin, Got rust in my veins and a jaw full of gin. Out here we cook in the trailer park breeze, With a rott on the chain and a body in the leaves. Ain’t no church ‘cept the shed with the cross, Where the plug met Christ with his dome shot off. [chorus] Welcome to Arkansas, where the killers still farm, Where the trailer door swing with a loaded arm. We ain’t got laws, we got hounds and hate, And a pinewood plot with your fuckin’ name. This that dirt-road gospel, meth-fed grime, Burlap the name, and I’m doin’ just fine. Keep your chain, your gold, your shine— Out here we gut for a tenth of the line. [VERSE 2] Hillbilly soul with a switchblade tongue, Made my rep off the breath of the young. Skin cook slow in the propane smoke, Got a sawed-off smile, and I ain’t no joke. Pop said son, let the devil in peace— So I opened the door and I fed him grease. This ain’t rap, this is butchered sound, I stomp beats d**d in the trailer ground. [chorus] Welcome to Arkansas, where the killers still farm, Where the trailer door swing with a loaded arm. We ain’t got laws, we got hounds and hate, And a pinewood plot with your fuckin’ name. This that dirt-road gospel, meth-fed grime, Burlap the name, and I’m doin’ just fine. Keep your chain, your gold, your shine— Out here we gut for a tenth of the line. [VERSE 3] Ain’t no flex, just w*r in my walk, And a pistol that bark when you run that talk. Come up wrong, you gon’ meet that fate, Got bodies in the back like paperweight. I piss on the law, make peace with the pain, Got a methhead bride and a bloodstain name. I’m Burlap, bitch, Arkansas’s own— Where the mud gets thick and the heart stay stone. [chorus] Welcome to Arkansas, where the killers still farm, Where the trailer door swing with a loaded arm. We ain’t got laws, we got hounds and hate, And a pinewood plot with your fuckin’ name. This that dirt-road gospel, meth-fed grime, Burlap the name, and I’m doin’ just fine. Keep your chain, your gold, your shine— Out here we gut for a tenth of the line. [OUTRO] Ain’t no welcome mat, just a shell in the shell, Welcome to Arkansas, welcome to hell. [OUTRO] I don’t rap—I warn. Burlap from the trailer, hillborn, hilltorn.