Get Off My Land

[Intro]
Ed Pryor

[Chorus: Fatt Tarr]
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land

[Verse 1: Fatt Tarr]
Hit 'em with a little bit of diesel
Brownstone my truck and upchuckin' mud at you people
Gotta know that you better not bring evil
Into my vicinity, I'm vicious like an eagle
I got these Lac boys lookin' sick and feeble
I got Real Tree binoculars you know I'm 'bout to see you
Now you know you better go and gas up better flow
'Cause ole Tarr don't freakin' feel you
Get your rhymes up, get your lines up
Make your mind up before your time's up
If you wanna hate me because you ain't Grant Sewell
Then I guess you better go ahead and line up (Ten hut)
Tiller gang in this th-th-thing
Down south rebels we click, clack, bang
Tennessee kickin' it's a volunteer gang
'Bout to 'cause some racket with this track up in your brain
God dang we go with it on boss
Flow started up like an '82 boss, bo
I'm a classic, a master, attracted to disaster
I rap fast 'til I collapse bastard
Redneck cracker never been a slacker
Whole lip packed full of dip and tabaccer
If they wanna come and get I don't got a problem with it
But they better know that I'm a filthy pistol packer
My steel boots'll knock you out
Boy, you better not forget that I'm from the South
I said what I meant then I shut shit down
Do our show get the whole damn crowd buck wild
It's about to go down
It's the hicks from the sticks in this bitch
So you boys better switch what you talkin' about
'Cause the Redneck Souljers play no games
We just takin' names and takin' rappers out, click clack bang

[Chorus: Fatt Tarr]
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land

[Verse 2: C-Hubb]
First off let me start by sayin' this land belongs to my family
And if you try to take that from me you're gonna see a deadly scene
And I'll be damned if we give amnesty to a man to be
Prancin' free though the land that we've been managin' for centuries
If you ain't homegrown just stay gone
Don't play along on Hubb's lawn, okay son?
Don't want trouble? Don't make none just stay home
If you don't wanna get attacked
'Cause if you come to the South and you're runnin' that mouth
Then you're probably never gonna go back (Back)
I don't leave the woods without my LC9
Got an AR-15 underneath them pines
And if I'm on my land shotgun's in my hand
Come on touch me if you wanna buddy, I don't give a damn
Put the iron sights beside your right eye
And hear a shotgun blast in through the night sky
We'll drag you down a dirt road where red hawks cry
Every inch of these woods buddy, I got eyes
Come on side and we'll take your life
And the boys in blue that will not ask why
The sun is bright and we'll make them rounds
But it'll get dark quick when I grab that twine
'Cause you get hog tied
Stay off my land bo, you hear me?
I got a bunch crazy southern rebels all around my sides
Tiller Gang boy, don't come near me

[Chorus: Fatt Tarr & Lil Wyte]
Get off my land, get off my land, don't give a damn
Get off my land, get off my land, you better scram (You ready Fatt Tarr)
Get off my land, get off my land (C-Hubb), don't give a damn
Get off my land (and Lil Wyte), get off my land, we reppin' Tiller on this land

[Verse 3: Lil Wyte]
Okay they bucked up and they'nt know Lil Wyte was off inside this bitch
Gotta fuel my goons and me from middle Tennessee
And we do not play that shit
'Cause the Redneck Souljers, those my brothers
This our land and we got shovels
We got backhoes and bulldozers
We can bury you hoes by dozens
Bring an army we have real tree snipers on our front line
And I promise they'll find you and pop you before you cross the gun-line
There's too much love in our cushion
Too much blood up in our moonshine
We fucked up and don't give a fuck
And ain't no motherfucker's takin' ours
We hold it out for all we know
None of our guns we need to load
We fully strapped and got enough ammo
To last 'til our kids fifteen years old
So tell 'em bo, scram, get gone
They don't fifty cal poppin' off
They just mad we got the recipe in Tennessee and there's no Boss Hog
Did you get that? Anybody know I ain't expect you to that's okay
That was a Hazzard reference to the Duke boys
I'm from the old school you know back in the day
Anyway, get the fuck up off our property, bitch, you ain't gettin' shit
I'm still a little bit of my rocker and I still roll with the motherfuckin' triple six, bitch (Bitch, bitch, bitch)

[Outro: Fatt Tarr]
We reppin' Tiller on this land
We reppin' Tiller on this land
We reppin' Tiller on this land
We reppin' Tiller on this land