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The Prodigal Son Returns (Kid Rock)

P-P-P pass the boota, pass the boota Cause i wanna get, P-P-P pass the boota P-P-P pass the boota, cause i wanna get off All the fuckers that are tryin to dis the Kid Rock You can get shot, but first i'm gonna get hot When it comes to rhyms i got a new Caddy Cause you got about as much flavor as a fuckin rice patty Babe, ahh don't quit your day job It lights the way ahh But on the mic i'm God And workin hard for your moneys what i x'ed hoe Cause i wont sell my soul for some wax dipped in cheap gold Par 4 motherfucker whatcha gonna do 1 wood 7 iron and i'm on the green at 2 With 1 putt i lyin a birdy in the hole I drive the show putt for dough So give it up hoe I get a lot of funny looks I aint stealin your music, my man I aint to fuckin crook Your playin dummy with your pride And you cant tell me shit about a funny vibe And all that jive your preachin, it's borin God saved my soul, you save the fuckin rain forest And i'll meet you in hell The prodigal son Kid Rock i rock well (only time will tell) Well it's been coast from the midway Smokin grass and sniffin lines And at first glance you wouldnt guess no I even make my own homemade wine Moonshine, Red wine, stir it up, drink it up Roll it up, light it up, toke down, pass around Cut it up, light it up, sniff it up, rock it up Gimme a pipe and i just might smoke it Object it, sellect it, clean it, protect it Suck it in, tie it up, stick it and inject it All night, that's right, pop it drop it Set it on your tongue and then trip til you peak