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Artist: Travis Barker & Yelawolf
Album:  Out of Control {S}
Song:   Out of Control
Typed by: 

My truck's so clean
You can lick the white walls and drink the gasoline
My pocket's so deep
I can eat McDonald's five days of the week
I got so much soul the devil is jealous
Wanna be down with the king
I'm off the ground
I float like a jet with propellers, a Vietnam machine
Speakin of Vietnam, I'm in this beat like a heater in Vietcong
when I spit with the kerosene
Preachin to see 'em wrong, grabbin this piece
I retrieve 'em and lead 'em wrong
with this gift of a shared dream
Reachin the seat and then bone
I grab the heat like a teeter now bring it on
When you hit you could barely breathe
Leap in the creek and the pond
back in the streets like a dealer to feed 'em songs
I blend in with everything

[Chorus: Yelawolf]
I'm too rock for hip-hop
Too hip-hop for rock'n'roll
I'm too city for rednecks
And I'm too country for city folks
But I don't give a fuck what they want from me
I can only give 'em what I know
I guess you can just call me
Out of motherfuckin control

I get so drunk
I lean against walls when there is no walls
My team is so rowdy
They throwin up the rebel flags when there is no cause
The South is still Dirty
My Chevy pipes are clappin, I need no applause
Roll up like a tornado
and park, fifty deep with nothin but hogs
I grew up on ZZ Top
When momma was bar-hoppin for easy jobs, I'm set with a TV knot
I grew up in need of pop
When momma was star-shoppin for Iggy Pop's, I happily needed not
They grew up a few easy crops
And momma was more poppin with easy guap, I sat with the PD cops
I knew it was either rock
And if I wanted more options for me to clock, I happened to see hip-hop


Give a fuck if you understand it
How would I expect you to? I barely comprehend it
How I ended up standin with Shady
Shakin hands with 50, like it was planned for me maybe
I'm a juxtaposition of musical composition
I'm America's sweat stain, what's left in the kitchen
Take the garbage out with the beggers and jump in the fuckin bag
Diggin for hand-me-down's like I forgot what I have
Nobody told me how to do me, it just is
An evolution of rap, and rock'n'roll mixed with
country-ass Memphis, Tennessee hillbillies
Tobacco spittin white kids listen with intent
Metallica, Triple-6, OutKast, Johnny Cash, Deadhead hippie shit
I'm grateful these hippie kids are able to witness it
Benefit from the pen, yeah I begin
Thank you Eminem, there-there it is