A dirt road A cold beer A blue jeans A red pickup A rural noun, simple adjective

No shoes No shirt No Jews You didn’t hear that Sort of a mental typo

I walk and talk like a field hand But the boots I’m wearing cost three grand I write songs about riding tractors From the comfort of a private jet

I could sing in Mandarin You’d still know I’m pandering Hunting deer, chasing trout A Bud Light with the logo facing out

Hear that subtle mandolin That’s textbook pandering I own a private ranch that I rarely use I don’t like dirt

[Spoken:] One verse, one chorus in the bag Now it’s time to talk to the ladies I am hoping my Southern charm offsets all these rape-y vibes I’m putting out

Good girl In a straw hat With her arms out in a corn field That is a scarecrow Thought it was a human woman, sorry

A cold night A cold beer A cold jeans Strike that last one

I’m wanting you I hope you’re feeling me Subtextually

We go to bed, you doze off So I take your country girl clothes off I put my hands on your body It feels like hay, It’s a fucking scarecrow again

Like Mike’s Evander-ing Fuck your ears, I’m pandering I write songs for the people who do Jobs in the towns that I’d never move to

Legalize gerrymandering Tolerate my pandering You got a beautiful mouth I got a beautiful

You dumb motherfuckers want a key change?

Thematically meandering Emphatically pandering I got a tight grip on my demo’s balls Say the word “truck”, they jizz in their overalls

You don’t know what land you’re in I’m in the land of pandering And I’ll be upfront I do what I do 'cause I’m a total fucking cunt-ry boy