They tellin' me, "Bun don't go there"
But, man, I just gots to bring it.
These niggas, they wanna hate on that Texas,
But scared to sing it.
They don't know what that star 'bout
They don't know what that bar 'bout
They don't know what that candy car 'bout
Or smokin' that joint 'bout.
All they know is what the fuck I tell 'em
Or what the fuck we sell 'em
Smokin' Swishers, wood grain,
And leavin' stains on cerebellums.
Rebellum, propell 'em, gel 'em
From P.A. to Deep Ellum.
Tell 'em I tol' 'em
Wrote 'em, fuck it, phone 'em
To hell to heaven.