kickin
BASS!
Who the one from the pine, whaddup y'all
I'm the one from the grind, how low y'all
Low below the Dixie Line, fuck with me
I'll show ya how yield a quarter pound off the rippy
I'm Catfish, bitch I'm back in
West east late night, who pump action
Nadda nothing buddy, don't even bother him
I told you I'm Catfish, I'm quick to swaller brim
Young gangsters busting wanna act bad
Wasting gun shells like Bush in Baghdad
My brother Zoo got the chopper and so?
Betcha he takes it like a motherfucking ho
Glass breaking I have your mother ducking low
Back down ha, now that's a motherfucking joke
Southern boys got hot butter for your soul
Cracker barrel full of dynamite so let's go
Dedicate this one to ugh... Magic 
My rattling trunk got them bobble heads looking
Rear view mirrors got the world sitting crooked
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
These twelve inch speakers, these six inch tweeters
I'm playing those heaters, I got that beater
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Gimme that Kenwood, these kicks are tempting
I'm throwing this shit up like bottles of Jim Beam
Knockers dropping, models are modeling
In vibrating seats so make knees start wobbling
If you want it bad, well then I give you my pickle
I'm so off the chain that I can't pedal my bicycle
Ain't got no petro, still get it crunk though
Leaving my tire marks in hip-hop centerfolds, ho
I know that amplifier's heated up, ho
I know the DJ wanna speed it up
My shit's snapping, it ain't snap music
But you can lean back and throw it up, come on
These Alabama boys connect with Atlanta boys
Raised by them gun lovers who load up bananas boys
Driving them Chevys and throwing D's on them Cadillacs
Speakers and tweeters beating my whip got that rattle back
My rattling trunk got them bobble heads looking
Rear view mirrors got the world sitting crooked
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
These twelve inch speakers, these six inch tweeters
I'm playing those heaters, I got that beater
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Yeah I'm Southern, I'm crazy
I'm driving Chevy's daily
Holler at chee, burning tires
I'm trashy, but I'm fire (yeah)
I'll stick em good, I'll show 'em up
I'll show 'em hood and I don't give a fuck
From the trailer park
I hail king, don't get ate apart
So watch your spelling
In the evening they ring-a-ling-ling
Cellular blowing up they wanna ding-a-ling
I'm a leading scene
The pimp of the leading team
We number one over seven Dixie Mafia family
My rattling trunk got them bobble heads looking
Rear view mirrors got the world sitting crooked
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
These twelve inch speakers, these six inch tweeters
I'm playing those heaters, I got that beater
I am kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking
Kick- kicking, kick- kick- kick- kicking