["Goofy Now by Jay Chou plays on piano in its own unique way"] Meth lab in the back and the crack smoke peels through the streets like an early morning fog. Momma's in the slaughterhouse with the hatchet, helping daddy chop early morning hog. I'm catching Z's like an early morning saw when I woke up to the racket yawning pause. What the fuck man, I can never get sleep man, peeped out the window, what's wrong with y'all? Stood up in my crips and tied Alabama sweatpants into my pillow. Looks like daddy caught that motherfucker to try to sneak in and steal his elbows. They don't know that old man don't hold hands or throw hands, nah, he's rough like a Brillo. Went to the Chevy and pulled out a machete and the gun is heavy and tall as the Digit Willow. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying punk, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Mossberg and a Mossy Oak duffel bag laying in the back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying punk, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Mossberg and a Mossy Oak duffel bag laying in the back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. Eleven thirty and I'm pulling up dirty, smoking beverage out the back of my buddy's Monte Carlo. End over some super hot beats with a super hot freak we call the parking lot hoe. You know he's sipping on that old brown bottle, face in the trunk make the whole town wobble. So when we ride around, bitches follow, and tonight one of them bitches is giving us problems. But one of them bitches been fucking one of my homeboy's favorite bitches, and he's been on his hit list for a minute, and I think he's ready to handle this business. He told me the other wolf get this, and he handed me the Cartier watch that was on his wrist. He said watch this shit, and he jumped to the trunk and grabbed this biscuit, biscuit. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying, punk. Don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Moss Berg and a Mossy oak duffel bag, laying in the back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying, punk. Don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Moss Berg and a Mossy oak duffel bag, laying in back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. Two men stand, one's got to go, one falls down to the ground, one walks down to the road. Mama better call the police, now he's screaming no, took a buckshot to the chest with a rock salt shell and he's moving slow. All this blood is spilled, enough to give a penguin chills, hot enough to make a potato smoke at the tip of the hollowed steel, in the valley of the hollow field, in the valley of the hollowed till. This ain't a figment of my imagination, buddy, this is where I deal, bamma. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying, punk. Don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Moss Berg and a Mossy oak duffel bag, laying in the back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you. Think he's playing? You better listen what he's saying, punk. Don't make me go pop the trunk on you. He got an old Moss Berg and a Mossy oak duffel bag, laying in the back of the dump, boy, don't make me go pop the trunk on you.