Get Off My Land

Lyrics

[Intro] Ed Pryor [Chorus: Fatt Tarr] Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land [Verse 1: Fatt Tarr] Hit 'em with a little bit of diesel Brownstone my truck and upchuckin' mud at you people Gotta know that you better not bring evil Into my vicinity, I'm vicious like an eagle I got these Lac boys lookin' sick and feeble I got Real Tree binoculars you know I'm 'bout to see you Now you know you better go and gas up better flow 'Cause ole Tarr don't freakin' feel you Get your rhymes up, get your lines up Make your mind up before your time's up If you wanna hate me because you ain't Grant Sewell Then I guess you better go ahead and line up (Ten hut) Tiller gang in this th-th-thing Down south rebels we click, clack, bang Tennessee kickin' it's a volunteer gang 'Bout to 'cause some racket with this track up in your brain God dang we go with it on boss Flow started up like an '82 boss, bo I'm a classic, a master, attracted to disaster I rap fast 'til I collapse bastard Redneck cracker never been a slacker Whole lip packed full of dip and tabaccer If they wanna come and get I don't got a problem with it But they better know that I'm a filthy pistol packer My steel boots'll knock you out Boy, you better not forget that I'm from the South I said what I meant then I shut shit down Do our show get the whole damn crowd buck wild It's about to go down It's the hicks from the sticks in this bitch So you boys better switch what you talkin' about 'Cause the Redneck Souljers play no games We just takin' names and takin' rappers out, click clack bang [Chorus: Fatt Tarr] Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land [Verse 2: C-Hubb] First off let me start by sayin' this land belongs to my family And if you try to take that from me you're gonna see a deadly scene And I'll be damned if we give amnesty to a man to be Prancin' free though the land that we've been managin' for centuries If you ain't homegrown just stay gone Don't play along on Hubb's lawn, okay son? Don't want trouble? Don't make none just stay home If you don't wanna get attacked 'Cause if you come to the South and you're runnin' that mouth Then you're probably never gonna go back (Back) I don't leave the woods without my LC9 Got an AR-15 underneath them pines And if I'm on my land shotgun's in my hand Come on touch me if you wanna buddy, I don't give a damn Put the iron sights beside your right eye And hear a shotgun blast in through the night sky We'll drag you down a dirt road where red hawks cry Every inch of these woods buddy, I got eyes Come on side and we'll take your life And the boys in blue that will not ask why The sun is bright and we'll make them rounds But it'll get dark quick when I grab that twine 'Cause you get hog tied Stay off my land bo, you hear me? I got a bunch crazy southern rebels all around my sides Tiller Gang boy, don't come near me [Chorus: Fatt Tarr & Lil Wyte] Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram (You ready Fatt Tarr) Get off my land, get off my land (C-Hubb), don't give a damn Get off my land (and Lil Wyte), get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land [Verse 3: Lil Wyte] Okay they bucked up and they'nt know Lil Wyte was off inside this bitch Gotta fuel my goons and me from middle Tennessee And we do not play that shit 'Cause the Redneck Souljers, those my brothers This our land and we got shovels We got backhoes and bulldozers We can bury you hoes by dozens Bring an army we have real tree snipers on our front line And I promise they'll find you and pop you before you cross the gun-line There's too much love in our cushion Too much blood up in our moonshine We fucked up and don't give a fuck And ain't no motherfucker's takin' ours We hold it out for all we know None of our guns we need to load We fully strapped and got enough ammo To last 'til our kids fifteen years old So tell 'em bo, scram, get gone They don't fifty cal poppin' off They just mad we got the recipe in Tennessee and there's no Boss Hog Did you get that? Anybody know I ain't expect you to that's okay That was a Hazzard reference to the Duke boys I'm from the old school you know back in the day Anyway, get the fuck up off our property, bitch, you ain't gettin' shit I'm still a little bit of my rocker and I still roll with the motherfuckin' triple six, bitch (Bitch, bitch, bitch) [Outro: Fatt Tarr] We reppin' Tiller on this land We reppin' Tiller on this land We reppin' Tiller on this land We reppin' Tiller on this land