Yelawolf - Funky sh** lyrics

Sitting in the back (Oh my god) S-Sitting the back (f-f-f-funky sh**) Sitting in the back (Oh my god) S-Sitting the back (f-f-f-funky sh**) Sitting in the back (Oh my god) S-Sitting the back (f-f-f-funky sh**) Sitting in the back (Oh my god) S-Sitting the back (f-f-f-funky sh**) Peanut 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 newer beat with Travis Eat it up, beat it up look at the atlas Where should I go? Put 'em in a cereal bowl In Alabama, then I holler out "Cheerio" Look at that sh**, hit the drum back like elastic And let it go like a mac? S-Sipping on the green, feeling like I'm seeing Patrick Got beans in the mattress, magic Make you want to jump on a fat b**h Ooh got to have it (boss) Send the wolf, pick a thing On a pekingese b**h, go go gadget (Owh) I'm all the way from the gutter Flick a cigarette bu*t from a Chevrolet pickup Geeked up on 7 Up Got a centimeter? Wall up on a run like a cheetah Want a better beat ah well, that'd be the day Put you up sh** creek Paddle be away, hat to the side Holler at you homie What's the matter with you babe? Sitting in the back with the ba** on boom Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom American cla**ic, trashy tunes L.A. to Alabama, from noon to noon They saying, (oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) Oh my god, that's some funky sh** And I'm a Beastie Boy Airwalks and a bowl cut Skater when a skater wasn't cool When it was just, "so what? f** you dude" Well f** you too To the crack 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 bu*ter, 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 big sign, I'll rap As long as TV got sticks to crack So hit a drumroll, I'll jump in like a jump rope Watch Acapella like an elevator operate While the operator labeled my f**ing high tops Rhythm like a clock, I'm scotch You would've thought, it was written But it's not Rag hanging out them look at them jeans Not a g**ner but a banger 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 Sitting in the back with the ba** on boom Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom American cla**ic, trashy tunes L.A. to Alabama, from noon to noon They saying, (oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) Oh my god, that's some funky sh** 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 private seat 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 f** 'em all, I'm right above 'em all But you could bu*t talk, if a? fall Out with a motherf**er 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 drawl 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 b**h Sitting in the back with the ba** on boom Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom American cla**ic, trashy tunes L.A. to Alabama, from noon to noon They saying, (oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) (Oh my god, that's some funky sh**) Oh my god, that's some funky sh**