Fuck Around and Find Out

(Hillbilly Horrorcore – slow, dirty banjo riff into heavy trap beat, distorted jug-blowin' bass, chainsaw scratches, distant hound howls) [Intro] (Spoken low, gravelly, like a backwoods preacher on bath salts) Y'all come 'round here sniffin' where you don't belong... This holler's haunted, boy. Fuck around... And find out. [Chorus] Fuck around and find out, in these misty mountain vales, Where the moonshine stills boil blood and the evil don't stay in cells. Shotgun full of rock salt, teeth in a mason jar, Cross my line in the holler, son, you won't make it to the car. Fuck around and find out, hear the banjo playin' wrong, Devil in the details, singin' your last damn song. Granny's in the attic, eyes glowin' red as hell, You came lookin' for trouble—now you ringin' Satan's bell. [Verse 1] I was born in a broke-down trailer, raised on corn and spite, Daddy was a revenant, Mama, she had the sight. We got haints in the smokehouse, skinwalkers in the pines, City boys roll up flexin', think these backroad's all the same. You kick my gate, laughin', call me inbred trash, Next thing you know your ride's wrapped 'round a hundred year old ash. I got a .410 loaded with rusty nails and teeth, Whisper curses from the Good Book mixed with old-time heathen speech. Your boys go missin', one by one, screamin' through the fog, Found their boots in the creek bed, still warm, but no feet inside 'em, dog. This land remembers, it drinks your fear like 'shine, Fuck around in my holler—leave your soul behind. [Chorus] Fuck around and find out, in these misty mountain vales, Where the moonshine stills boil blood and the evil don't stay in cells. Shotgun full of rock salt, teeth in a mason jar, Cross my line in the holler, son, you won't make it to the car. Fuck around and find out, hear the banjo playin' wrong, Devil in the details, singin' your last damn song. Granny's in the attic, eyes glowin' red as hell, You came lookin' for trouble—now you ringin' Satan's bell. [Verse 2] We got pig masks hangin' from the old oak tree, Witch bones in the garden where the black-eyed peas be. You TikTok your way in, call it "content for the 'Gram," Wake up in the root cellar with a hook in your hand. I skinwalk when the need calls, wear your cousin's face, Text your mama "come get me" from a number you can't trace. The hounds got three legs, eyes like coals in the night, They track your scent through the kudzu, ain't no runnin' from the bite. Your crew came huntin' legends, now legends huntin' you, Pieces in the smokehouse, slow-cured, ready for the stew. This ain't no movie, boy—this is family tradition, Generations of "find out" stacked like ammunition. [Bridge] (Chanted, slower, banjo creeps in alone then trap hits hard) Don't come 'round here... with your clean hands and soft talk... The mountain eats the proud... spits out the bones at dawn... We warned ya... we always warn ya... But y'all never listen... [Final Chorus] (louder, unhinged) Fuck around and find out! Now the hollers sing your name, Carved into the family tree with a rusted hunting blade. Your screams make the best bluegrass, echoes through the holler deep, Join the choir of the damned, boy—eternal fuckin' sleep. Fuck around and find out, leave your tags pay the cost, "Missing" posters yellow, but we know what you lost. Granny's smilin' wider, jar's full of fresh new teeth, Welcome to the family... now rest in pieces, chief. [Outro] (Fading, distant laughter and a single banjo string snapping) Told ya... Fuck around... And find out.