Lyrics

[Intro – Gritty Guitar Riff + 808 Drop]
Yeah, it's that low-down, no-good, hell-raised hymn...
From River Street to the Dirty Nickel, baby.
We raised Cain, raised bottles, and hell with it.
Outlaw hearts with a mouth full of sin…
[Verse 1 – Country Drawl & Southern Rap]
I was born with a flask and a fuck-you grin,
Drunk on gas fumes, ridin’ sin in a rusted tin.
'68 GTO, cherry bombed and loud,
With a bed fulla Bud cans, smoke clouds like a shroud.

River Street nights, neon flickerin’ lies,
Where the whiskey breath hits harder than goodbye cries.
301 South, them coyote bitches bark,
Dancin’ on the bar like a rodeo dark.

They ain't queens, but damn they howl,
Slippin' Jack in their Coke with a cigarette growl.
Shakin' that tail like they born for sin,
Make a preacher unzip just to dive right in.

[Hook – Dirty-Soul Harmony + Slide Guitar]
Y’all, we kings of the gutter, lords of the longneck,
Redneck gold in a tobacco-stained deck.
From the Red Carpet honeys to the Dirty Nickel saints,
We painted this city with shots and complaints.

Raise ‘em high — to the crash, to the scars,
To them whores, old trucks, and backstreet bars.
We were broke, bloodshot, loud and proud —
In our minds, baby, we drove a Cadillac cloud.

[Verse 2 – Dirty South Rap Flow + Banjo Loop]
Silver Dollar Lounge, where dreams go to fight,
AKA the Dirty Nickel every Thursday night.
Crack whores sprawled like a preacher’s regret,
But they’d finesse you blind, run up your debt.

Jukebox screamin' old Hank and UGK,
One minute slow dancin’, next throwin’ ashtrays.
Outlaw boys puffin’ Kools with a mile-long stare,
While the devil sat grinnin’ in a busted-up chair.
Down at Red Carpet, them girls were prime filth,
Lip gloss chipped, hearts dipped in guilt.
They’d drop it for a PBR and a Marlboro Light,
Then ride you like a bronc ‘til the early daylight.
[Bridge – Talkin’ Blues Spoken Word]
Yeah, most called it trash, said “y’all ain't worth spit,” But when you burn with no brakes, you don’t give a shit. We were legends in rust, chrome-worn fools, With outlaw rules and barstool schools.
Hell, the GTO's engine coughed like a drunk vet,
But she roared like God when the moonlight set.
We poured life in empty tanks, bled credit cards dry —
But when that throttle hit, we touched the sky.
[Hook – All-Out Anthem Style]
Let it ride — to the whiskey bruises and dive bar hell, To the lips of a dancer and that motel smell.
From the girls with scars to them neon sins,
Where nothin' good starts, but everything begins.
Raise ‘em high — to the crash, to the scars,
To them whores, old trucks, and backstreet bars.
We were broke, bloodshot, loud and proud —
In our minds, baby, we drove a Cadillac cloud.
[Outro – Slow Fade, Guitar Cryin’]
So here’s to the filth, to the freaks and the flame,
Who spit on the rules, forgot their name.
From Savannah’s River to the low-life wild,
We was dyin' young, outlawed, and highball-styled.
And though the city moved on like a bride in white,
We still work it all damn nite