Bible Belt

Welcome to the Wolf cave!
 YelaWolf!
 Me my man, Ben Hameen
 She gave, Alabama Connect
 Oh, you wanna know about the south?
 Ok, play them the Dirty South
 Welcome home then
 Welcome to the cold hard truth: Bama
 Dead Native Americans spirits swarm through the foothills
 And whisper through the weeping willows.
 It moves like a water rapid dancing through your meadows
 Diming lights from thick fog and gravel paths
 Footprints of a ghost in the wet grass
 That lead into invisible prison cells past
 The weird rust is symbolic of the blood bath
 Just take a look
 The younger generations are committing the worst crimes
 They lost in a tangle of evident guidelines
 Controlled by the unseen and claim one king
 And worship a image despite lies and covered schemes
 The halt puts a chill in the midnight breeze
 Scavengers on the hunt get whatever is free
 The breath of the devil throwing metal debris at lost sons
 Caught in the wilderness of the south you better
 Run for the ditch, there's locusts in the sky
 Hide in the cellar, propellers are humming by
 In the Bible Belt
 In the Bible Belt
 Freight trains shaking the walls and taking lives,
 Stain glass breaking, the steeple's on fire
 In the Bible Belt
 In the Bible Belt
 Welcome to my land, my home: Bama
 Where the clouds turn green,
 Where The Clan marches up and down the small town streets
 Where cops look for excitement
 Where the oak tree split and burn form the blue lightning
 Where the plantation still stands as an undying reminder
 Where the Rebel flag waves as an undying reminder
 Some try to find there way out
 It ain't easy
 The economy's bad and most searching for a freebie
 In fact, hustlers of every color stay lookin' for the cracks, and loopholes,
 They stoop low and do jacks
 With new clothes and shoes.
 Hoes, they turn tricks
 And follow each-other cause momma just don't give a shit
 See black lights and incense they feel roused
 Cause no church can soul search like mushrooms,
 So young minds, they do lines to feel numb.
 Like a thick black cloud of smoke is drifting over the evergreens
 The air we breathe ain't safe no more momma.
 Naw
 They polluted the whole city mamma.
 The whole city is
 Filled with thoughts, education, and short dreams.
 The youth dying to live be all it seems
 To be all that we have momma,
 But I ain't throwin' up my hands momma.
 No I an't throwin' up my hands
 To many grand schemes I must speak
 To get free in my mind.
 If I can free my body
 Then I write my song alone in the seas,
 And put a message in the bottle
 For the broken seas to reach everybody.
 I know it's impossible,
 But I hope these words convey to hit one soul
 To eternally echo through my home and known
 With the roots of a child with a son that ain't done.