Black folks made country

country, trap-country, swampy rap-country

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[Verse 1]
Granddaddy had a brown jug, red clay on his boots
Church fan, sweat drippin’, cookout smoke in his suit
Porch light hummin’, dice game in the back
Bible on the table, pistol in his lap

Sunday lunch, fried fish, hot sauce on the plate
Blues on the radio, leanin’ into fate
They told us we ain’t fitted for this two-step groove
Funny how the whole damn lane ride how we move (yeah)

[Chorus]
Black folks made country, hood country
Turn that red dirt road to the front of the club
From the shotgun house to the projects, honey
Same loud aunties, same big love
We been sangin’ ‘bout pain, ‘bout God, ‘bout money
Long ‘fore they said our drawl sound “good”
Black folks made country, hood country
We the roots under every piece of wood (ayy)

[Verse 2]
Auntie in a band tee, boots with the fringe
Cousin with the gold teeth, smoke on the wind
They call it “southern gothic,” we call it everyday
Cornbread, EBT, but we still gon’ pray

Pickup with the 15s, bass rattlin’ cans
Mud on the tires, Hennessy in the plans
They said “this ain’t your genre,” smiled through their teeth
Then copied every slang term we dropped on the beat (woah)

[Bridge]
From field calls
To steel strings
From chain gangs
To choir wings
Every “yeehaw”
Got a ghost in it
Say our name
When you hit that lick (hey!)

2075/7500

[Verse 1] Granddaddy had a brown jug, red clay on his boots Church fan, sweat drippin’, cookout smoke in his suit Porch light hummin’, dice game in the back Bible on the table, pistol in his lap Sunday lunch, fried fish, hot sauce on the plate Blues on the radio, leanin’ into fate They told us we ain’t fitted for this two-step groove Funny how the whole damn lane ride how we move (yeah) [Chorus] Black folks made country, hood country Turn that red dirt road to the front of the club From the shotgun house to the projects, honey Same loud aunties, same big love We been sangin’ ‘bout pain, ‘bout God, ‘bout money Long ‘fore they said our drawl sound “good” Black folks made country, hood country We the roots under every piece of wood (ayy) [Verse 2] Auntie in a band tee, boots with the fringe Cousin with the gold teeth, smoke on the wind They call it “southern gothic,” we call it everyday Cornbread, EBT, but we still gon’ pray Pickup with the 15s, bass rattlin’ cans Mud on the tires, Hennessy in the plans They said “this ain’t your genre,” smiled through their teeth Then copied every slang term we dropped on the beat (woah) [Chorus] Black folks made country, hood country Turn that red dirt road to the front of the club From the shotgun house to the projects, honey Same loud aunties, same big love We been sangin’ ‘bout pain, ‘bout God, ‘bout money Long ‘fore they said our drawl sound “good” Black folks made country, hood country We the roots under every piece of wood [Bridge] From field calls To steel strings From chain gangs To choir wings Every “yeehaw” Got a ghost in it Say our name When you hit that lick (hey!) [Chorus] Black folks made country, hood country Turn that red dirt road to the front of the club From the shotgun house to the projects, honey Same loud aunties, same big love We been sangin’ ‘bout pain, ‘bout God, ‘bout money Long ‘fore they said our drawl sound “good” Black folks made country, hood country We the roots under every piece of wood (yeah) Black folks made country, hood country Don’t forget who planted this groove

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