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?