[VINYL INTRO – Slow, Lo-fi Country Drawl] I got a butter churn, wanna give it a spin Once you grip that handle, we don’t stop ‘til we sin Ain’t no prayer in this pew, just knees in the dirt You bring the biscuits, baby—I’ll supply dessert [RECORD SCRATCH → TRAP DROP – VERSE 1] Got a butter churn? Lemme ride it reverse Spit on the stick ‘fore I make it submerse Boy bring heat like a July hearse Got cream drippin’ down from a hymnal curse Spread like jam on a biscuit flat Make the preacher say “Lawd!” then double that Put your tongue in my peach like a southern snack You can play that fiddle but I clap back [PRE-CHORUS – Dirty Southern Talk] Hitch that wagon to my back porch, I ain't shy Got me moanin’ like a ghost when your hands go thigh-high You got manners, I got gallons Squirt like a jug with no balance [CHORUS – Nasty Hoe Anthem Energy] Cornbread ain’t the only thing gettin’ stuffed I been bad, I been rough, I need more than just a puff Call me piggy when I squeal, got that sauce you wanna feel Tastes like Sunday supper but it’s nasty, not ideal [VINYL CRACKLE RETURN – BRIDGE TRANSITION] Pull them boots off slow, I don’t bite—I devour Ain’t no hymn singin’ louder than me at the hour [TRAP DROP – VERSE 2] Ride this face like a rodeo clown Put my drawers on the line, watch ‘em drip then drown Coochie so sweet make the bees come ‘round Makin’ hay while I lay, no gown Turn this haystack to a freaky scene Giddy-up stroke till I cream my jeans Dick like a jaw harp, make it twang, make it sing He said “How’s it so tight?” I said “Jesus intervened” [PRE-CHORUS – Southern Sass Revival] Bible in one hand, your balls in the other Prayin’ to the Lord while you tongue my udder Hallelujah hips, this ain’t no stutter Pussy talk tongues like a snake got butter [CHORUS – Full Power Version] Cornbread ain’t the only thing gettin’ stuffed I got thighs like trap doors, suck your soul if you’re tough Boots knock, jaw lock, now you stuck in my clutch Got that down-south snap-back swamp-slop slut [OUTRO – VINYL FADEOUT W/ MOANS + CRACKLE] (Faint fiddle and steel guitar under heavy breathing) Turn that butter, baby… Just don’t you let it burn…
