Lyrics

Deep in the Bible Belt, where the law’s just a rumor,
Steel-eyed bastards built empires from bourbon and boomer.
No saints in these pews—just killers in boots,
Moonshine in their veins, and a trunk full of loot.
South Georgia to Texas, Mississippi to the Keys,
They ran rackets so dirty, even the devil said “please.”
No Godfathers, no capos, just Southern-born kings,
With a .38 smile and a heart full of stings.

Chorus
They ran the South like a shotgun wedding,
Blood on the altar, the preacher ain’t sweating.
No Sicilian rules, no cartel command,
Just hard men in Chevys with death in their hands.
Think they’re gone? You’re a fool in the dark—
Their sons ride the thunder, still leaving their mark.

Verse 2
Racketeers in the courthouse, pimps in the pew,
If you crossed the line, they’d make a corpse out of you.
Moonshine rivers, cocaine trains,
Girls in the backroom, cash in the drains.
They didn’t bow to New York, didn’t fear Medellín,
They’d light up your world, then erase the whole scene.
Protection for sale, but betrayal’s a sin—
If you snitched on the Dixie, you’d never breathe again.

Bridge
Outlaws MC, thunder on chrome,
Leather and steel, hellhounds from home.
Jack Benny the boss, cold-blooded and slick,
Troy Foskey his hammer—one look, you’d get sick.
Snitches found floating, rivals in ditches,
They made their own rules, fulfilled all their wishes.

Chorus
They ran the South like a shotgun wedding,
Blood on the altar, the preacher ain’t sweating.
No Sicilian rules, no cartel command,
Just hard men in Chevys with death in their hands.
Think they’re gone? You’re a fool in the dark—
Their sons ride the thunder, still leaving their mark.

Verse 3
From strip clubs in Biloxi to the docks in Mobile,
They bought the whole system—every cop, every deal.
Prostitutes, dope, murder for hire,
If you owed them a dime, you’d retire in the mire.
They buried their enemies, erased every trace,
Left widows and orphans all over the place.
Now the world thinks they vanished, just a whisper, a tale—
But their bloodlines are riding, and they’re back without fail.

Outro
So pour out the whiskey, salute the damned,
The kings of the South, with the world in their hands.
Gangsters, not gangstas—no bling, just scars,
Still running the rackets, still chasing the stars.
Dixie Mafia forever, in shadow and flame,
If you cross ‘em, you’re history—they’ll bury your name.