Purist

كلمات الأغنية

THE BUS DOESN’T STOP Winchester Country Club — Smoky Southern Country-Rap Anthem [Spoken Intro — low, gravelly, slow] Thursday. One o’clock. Marin Country Club. Old money. Old trees. Old clubhouse. Old boys sittin’ around thinkin’ they own the damn place. Then somewhere off in the distance… You hear a diesel engine. That ain’t thunder, motherfucker. THAT’S THE WINCHESTER BUS. And the bus… doesn’t… fucking… stop. [Beat Drops — dirty slide guitar / heavy bass] [Chorus] KEEP THAT FUCKIN’ BUS ROLLIN’ Black smoke pourin’ out the back Winchester boys crossed the county line And old money just met its match KEEP THAT FUCKIN’ BUS ROLLIN’ We didn’t drive down here to talk We came to make Marin our bitch Then drag these points back up the block WIN-FUCKIN’-CHESTER! Let’s fuckin’ go! [Verse 1 — Marin Country Club] First off the bus, Dietrich — one-point-eight Cold-blooded killer and he showed up straight Fairways and greens, ain’t shit left to debate He don’t need many strokes when the swing looks great Beside him Aldrich the Third — two-point-two D3 got one fucking job to do Walk onto Marin like he owns that shit too Take their best punch, then put ’em straight through Old money looking from the clubhouse glass Wondering who the fuck just stepped on their grass That’s Winchester, baby — better learn it fast We ain’t here for the scenery… WE’RE HERE FOR YOUR ASS. [Verse 2] Then Johnson — five-point-three Cool as a motherfucker, smooth as Tennessee Patterson — five-point-six riding shotgun with heat Two Winchester boys and a scorecard to eat No country-club handshakes gonna soften this shit No “good shot, old chap” when the putt gets hit We came for points and we came to commit If Marin wants a dogfight— THEN GET IN THE FUCKIN’ PIT. [Verse 3] Then here comes Miller — nine-point-one That motherfucker looks like trouble before the hole’s begun And Neal — ten-point-five, somebody hide the rum Because when those two get rolling, somebody better fucking run Rick Neal might think that flagstick’s ten feet tall But give that crazy bastard a chance and he’ll go after it all Miller just grins like, “Fuck it, let him cook” And somewhere in the Marin clubhouse… An old man just dropped his fucking book. [Chorus] KEEP THAT FUCKIN’ BUS ROLLIN’ Six boys deep in enemy land Old money thought they owned Marin Till Winchester dealt the hand Dietrich! D3! Johnson! Patterson! Miller! Neal! Six motherfuckers at one o’clock— GO MAKE MARIN OUR BITCH. [Breakdown — music gets dark] But hold the fuck up… Because while Marin’s watching the road… There’s another fight happening back home. Thursday. One o’clock. WINCHESTER COUNTRY CLUB. And the fucking gates are locked. [Verse 4 — Winchester Home Guard] OCC — three-point-one Defending Winchester like a loaded shotgun Lonnie Aldrich — four-point-oh Home turf, home crowd — now let that motherfucker go Then Rooker — seven-point-oh Quiet motherfucker till it’s time for the show Rakestraw — seven-point-five Keep the pressure on ’em and bury ’em alive This ain’t their fairway. This ain’t their green. This ain’t their mountain. THIS IS FUCKING WINCHESTER. [Verse 5] Then Killer — twelve-point-four Give that motherfucker strokes and ask for more Classon — thirteen-point-two That’s a whole lotta ammunition coming at you Use every fucking pop Make every damn putt Keep your foot on the gas And your boot on their butt Because home or away, the mission stays the same: WIN YOUR FUCKING MATCH. [Bridge — slow Southern gospel build] Pick up your partner when his swing goes south. Shut the fuck up when he’s standing over the ball. Believe in the putt. Believe in the shot. Believe in the crazy motherfucker standing beside you. Because Thursday isn’t six matches. It’s one team. Twelve Winchester boys. Two golf courses. One fucking mission. DO. NOT. LET. THE. BUS. STOP. [Final Chorus — huge] THE BUS DON’T STOP AT MARIN THE BUS DON’T STOP AT HOME THE BUS DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT OLD MONEY OR WHO THINKS THEY OWN THE THRONE We’ll smoke that diesel down the highway Let that Winchester flag fly Take every point those bastards give us Then take a couple they thought were theirs besides Old money— MEET NEW TROUBLE. Marin Country Club— WELCOME TO THE FUCKING SHOW. Thursday. One o’clock. Start the engines. Load the boys. Because there’s only one destination… And there’s only one rule: THE. BUS. DOESN’T. FUCKING. STOP. WIN… FUCKING… CHESTER!!!