Kid Rock - The Prodigal Son Returns lyrics
[Kid Rock - The Prodigal Son Returns lyrics]
P-p-p pass the buddha, pass the buddha
'Cause I wanna get, p-p-p pass the buddha
P-p-p pass the buddha, 'cause I wanna get off
All the fuckers that are trying
To diss the Kid Rock
You can get shot, but first I'm gonna get hot
When it comes to rhymes, I got a new Caddy
'Cause you got about as much flavor
As a fucking rice patty
"Gay Bob, don't quit your day job"
This might sound way odd, but on the mic
I'm God and working hard for your money's
What an ex told
'Cause I won't sell my soul for
Some wax dipped in cheap gold
Part four, motherfucker, whatcha gonna do?
One wood, seven iron
And I'm on the green in two
With one putt, I'm lying birdy in the hole
I drive for show, putt for dough
So give it up, ho, I get a lot of funny looks
I'm stealing your music, my man
I ain't a fucking crook
You're playing dummy with your pride
And you can't tell me shit about a 45
And all that jive you preach
It's the poorest god saved my soul
You save the fucking rainforest
And I'll meet you in Hell
The prodigal son Kid Rock, I rock well
(only time will tell)
Well, it's that country boy from the midwest
Smoking grass and sniffing lines
And at first glance, you wouldn't guess, no
I even make my own homemade wine
Moonshine, red wine, stir it up, drink it up
Roll it up, light it up, toke down
Pass around
Cut it up, light it up, sniff it up
Rock it up
Gimme a pipe and I just might smoke it
Object it, select it, clean it, protect it
Suck it in, tie it up, stick it in, inject it
All night, that's right, pop it, drop it
Set it on your tongue and
Then trip 'til you peak
'Cause I wanna get, p-p-p pass the buddha
P-p-p pass the buddha, 'cause I wanna get off
All the fuckers that are trying
To diss the Kid Rock
You can get shot, but first I'm gonna get hot
When it comes to rhymes, I got a new Caddy
'Cause you got about as much flavor
As a fucking rice patty
"Gay Bob, don't quit your day job"
This might sound way odd, but on the mic
I'm God and working hard for your money's
What an ex told
'Cause I won't sell my soul for
Some wax dipped in cheap gold
Part four, motherfucker, whatcha gonna do?
One wood, seven iron
And I'm on the green in two
With one putt, I'm lying birdy in the hole
I drive for show, putt for dough
So give it up, ho, I get a lot of funny looks
I'm stealing your music, my man
I ain't a fucking crook
You're playing dummy with your pride
And you can't tell me shit about a 45
And all that jive you preach
It's the poorest god saved my soul
You save the fucking rainforest
And I'll meet you in Hell
The prodigal son Kid Rock, I rock well
(only time will tell)
Well, it's that country boy from the midwest
Smoking grass and sniffing lines
And at first glance, you wouldn't guess, no
I even make my own homemade wine
Moonshine, red wine, stir it up, drink it up
Roll it up, light it up, toke down
Pass around
Cut it up, light it up, sniff it up
Rock it up
Gimme a pipe and I just might smoke it
Object it, select it, clean it, protect it
Suck it in, tie it up, stick it in, inject it
All night, that's right, pop it, drop it
Set it on your tongue and
Then trip 'til you peak