Outlaw (feat. Luke Combs)

Where have the rebels gone?
 We don't need another pretty boy singin' pretty songs
 Fake country boys, doin' country all wrong
 Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash
 Somebody chewin' 'bacca, and whippin' ass
 I need a preacher, I need a savior, how about y'all?
 Can I get a outlaw?
 Let me get a outlaw like the man who raised me up
 Haulin' chickens to Kentucky in the back of beat-up trucks
 Because all I'm seeing now is Hollywood wearin' some huntin' gear
 And TV shows 'bout idiots that think country is drinkin' beer
 Sick of seein' skinny jeans, smilin' like a cover girl
 I wanna see some kids outback with .22's poppin' squirrels
 I wanna see some young guns goin' out on a duck hunt
 And lesser of this Flappy Bird and actin' like a lazy bum
 'Cause trends got it twisted, and they make country a petty style
 Now where's all my country folks that actually could go survive
 When that stock market crashes, I'll be somewhere deep off in these pines
 Killin' shit, kickin' ass, and takin' what the hell is mine
 We don't need another pretty boy singin' pretty songs
 Fake country boys, doin' country all wrong
 Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash
 Somebody chewin' 'bacca and whipping ass
 I need a preacher, I need a savior, how about y'all?
 Can I get a outlaw?
 I got scars on my knuckles from a loud mouth in the parkin' lot
 Knife wounds in my back from so-called friends that tend to lie a lot
 There's snakes up in the grass but bubba, shit, I'm used to walkin' tall
 And if I feel you're talkin' shit, won't second guess to jack your jaw
 Today the world we live in, realness tends to wash and fade away
 That's why if you ain't walkin' shit, then I don't care for shit you say
 I met the folks I idolize and so far, they're some white ass lies
 Just country fakin' good disguise, now tell me how that tends to fly?
 I'm on my southern pride twang, baby, come and roll with me
 Backwoods as it gets and not the shit that you see on TV
 I'm talking Chevy C10, kickin' up some brown rocks
 .30-06 with a cedar-stained wood stock
 We don't need another pretty boy singin' pretty songs
 Fake country boys, doin' country all wrong
 Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash
 Somebody chewin' 'bacca, and whipping ass
 I need a preacher, I need a savior, how about y'all?
 Can I get a outlaw?
 I stay comin' in like a rock, so they be callin' me the Scottsdale
 Cornbread fed and you know I'm raisin' plenty hell
 I'm turnt up like some honkies at a kegger party in a hotel
 And I'm breakin' down these barriers like drywall that needs repairs
 I'm cold with my shit, boy, I'm cold with my style boy
 That backwoods, that hick town, that late night, that drivin' round
 That George Strait cranked real loud, got lightnin' bugs on my windshield
 That back road, no cops found, and I'm sippin' on that hot brown
 I RHEC shit, my motto, got rednecks by the truckload
 That smell good stay sprayed on, I hit downtown and take girls home
 That bonfire, light that up, home-grown shit, roll one
 I got a gun rack in by back glass and a big gun, it holds one
 We don't need another pretty boy singin' pretty songs
 Fake country boys, doin' country all wrong
 Need another Haggard or a Johnny Cash
 Somebody chewin' 'bacca, and whipping ass
 I need a preacher, I need a savior, how about y'all?
 Can I get a outlaw?