Travis Barker, Yelawolf - Funky Shit lyrics
Travis Barker [Travis Landon Barker] Fontana, California, U.S. 🇺🇸
Yelawolf [Michael Wayne Atha] Gadsden, Alabama/Antioch, Tennessee, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Travis Barker, Yelawolf - Funky Shit lyrics]
Sitting in the back (Oh my god)
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Sitting in the back (Oh my god)
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Sitting in the back (Oh my god)
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Peanut butter jelly box
Sitting in the carport
808 crack, and I'm open like a barndoor
Beer bottle cap, put 'em in the floor
Set 'em in the floor
What a metaphor is this?
Kind of like I do a beat with Travis
Eat it up, beat it up, work at the atlas
Where should I go? Put 'em in a cereal bowl
In Alabama, then I holler out "Cheerio"
Look at that shit
Pull the gun back like elastic
And let it go like a mac clip
S-Sipping on the green bottle
Like I'm saint Patrick
Got beans in the mattress, magic
Make you want to jump on a fat bitch
You got to have it, boss
Yelawolf, pick a thing
On a pekingese bitch, go go gadget
Owh, I'm all the way from the gutter
Flick a cigarette butt from
A Chevrolet pickup geeked up on 7 Up
Gotta turn the beat up while I run
Up on it like a cheetah
Wanna ride a beat, right above
That'll be the day
Put you up shit creek, paddle it away
Hat to the side holler at you homie
What's the matter with you baby?
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Yeah, and I'm a Beastie Boy
Airwalks and a bowl cut
I skated when a skater wasn't cool
When it was just, "So what? Fuck you dude"
Well fuck you too
Get your melon cracked with a backpack
I'll bust your fruit
I'm all about constructing my paper
Kind of like a pocket full of Elmer's Glue
Squeeze the bottle, turn the milk
Churn the butter, get cheese tomorrow
I got a lock on my profit
No exit's, no keys tomorrow
But, I got steeze to borrow
Some Famous kicks to match
If I got a bass line, I'll rap
As long as TB got sticks to crack
So hit a drumroll
I'll jump in like a jump rope watch
Acapella like an elevator
Operate the fader while I operate a label
Then I'm in my fuckin' high tops
Rhythm like a clock, hop scotch
You would've thought, it was written
But, it's not
Rag hanging out the back of them jeans
Not a gangbanger but a cracker who sings
And momma don't you worry
About a single thing
Really though, cause daddy brought charcoal
And gasoline
And we cooking up tonight, t-bones
Pinto beans
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Yeah, why stop now? Put 'em in the trunk
Let 'em feel the sound
That they don't pop it
Let 'em feel the rhyme 'till
He finds the locket
808 weighs a ton, so drop it
Watch your feet, while I rock the beat
I’m goin all out, no private seat
I don't walk if I can ride the beat
But wouldn't you though? Don't lie to me
Of course you would, catapult syllables
Got up on my horse in the woods, whoa
Magical, sorcerer goods
Steal from the rich put more in the hood
Natural, born with a wood
Fuck 'em all, I'm right above 'em all
I drink a Bud tall, get a buzz and fall
Outrun with a motherfucker with
A sluggish crawl
Chug 'till I can't chug at all
Not a frat boy, I'm a rap boy
In Hollywood, like Aykroyd
But, I read my script with a southern draw
I run home when mother calls
'Cause mother's got a switch
Yeah, she's a wolf too
That makes me a son of a bitch
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Sitting in the back (Oh my god)
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Sitting in the back (Oh my god)
S-Sitting the back (F-f-f-funky shit)
Peanut butter jelly box
Sitting in the carport
808 crack, and I'm open like a barndoor
Beer bottle cap, put 'em in the floor
Set 'em in the floor
What a metaphor is this?
Kind of like I do a beat with Travis
Eat it up, beat it up, work at the atlas
Where should I go? Put 'em in a cereal bowl
In Alabama, then I holler out "Cheerio"
Look at that shit
Pull the gun back like elastic
And let it go like a mac clip
S-Sipping on the green bottle
Like I'm saint Patrick
Got beans in the mattress, magic
Make you want to jump on a fat bitch
You got to have it, boss
Yelawolf, pick a thing
On a pekingese bitch, go go gadget
Owh, I'm all the way from the gutter
Flick a cigarette butt from
A Chevrolet pickup geeked up on 7 Up
Gotta turn the beat up while I run
Up on it like a cheetah
Wanna ride a beat, right above
That'll be the day
Put you up shit creek, paddle it away
Hat to the side holler at you homie
What's the matter with you baby?
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Yeah, and I'm a Beastie Boy
Airwalks and a bowl cut
I skated when a skater wasn't cool
When it was just, "So what? Fuck you dude"
Well fuck you too
Get your melon cracked with a backpack
I'll bust your fruit
I'm all about constructing my paper
Kind of like a pocket full of Elmer's Glue
Squeeze the bottle, turn the milk
Churn the butter, get cheese tomorrow
I got a lock on my profit
No exit's, no keys tomorrow
But, I got steeze to borrow
Some Famous kicks to match
If I got a bass line, I'll rap
As long as TB got sticks to crack
So hit a drumroll
I'll jump in like a jump rope watch
Acapella like an elevator
Operate the fader while I operate a label
Then I'm in my fuckin' high tops
Rhythm like a clock, hop scotch
You would've thought, it was written
But, it's not
Rag hanging out the back of them jeans
Not a gangbanger but a cracker who sings
And momma don't you worry
About a single thing
Really though, cause daddy brought charcoal
And gasoline
And we cooking up tonight, t-bones
Pinto beans
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Yeah, why stop now? Put 'em in the trunk
Let 'em feel the sound
That they don't pop it
Let 'em feel the rhyme 'till
He finds the locket
808 weighs a ton, so drop it
Watch your feet, while I rock the beat
I’m goin all out, no private seat
I don't walk if I can ride the beat
But wouldn't you though? Don't lie to me
Of course you would, catapult syllables
Got up on my horse in the woods, whoa
Magical, sorcerer goods
Steal from the rich put more in the hood
Natural, born with a wood
Fuck 'em all, I'm right above 'em all
I drink a Bud tall, get a buzz and fall
Outrun with a motherfucker with
A sluggish crawl
Chug 'till I can't chug at all
Not a frat boy, I'm a rap boy
In Hollywood, like Aykroyd
But, I read my script with a southern draw
I run home when mother calls
'Cause mother's got a switch
Yeah, she's a wolf too
That makes me a son of a bitch
Sitting in the back with the bass on boom
Trunk gon' shake, and the wheels on zoom
American classic, trashy tunes
LA to Alabama, from noon to noon
They saying, oh my god
That's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit
Oh my god, that's some funky shit