Way Down South Songtext
von Bubba Sparxxx feat. Kyle Cook, Danny Boone & Demun Jones

We goin′ way down, way down, way down south
We goin' way down, way down, way down
Then we work, work ′til we can't work no more
Then we drink, drink 'til we ain′t got no more
Then we lay it down, lay it down, lay it down
We goin′ way down

I'm a workaholic, alcoholic, everything-aholic
Hillbilly, bumpkin′, whatever name you call it
My mama smokes Winstons and my daddy drinks wine
The Muscadine kind, and I love 'em, they mine
I got a big sister named Ginger that′ll whip your ass
Quick, fast, this is something that you should know
We ain't just from down there, we′re from out there (out there)
No newspaper, we ain't on their route, yeah (yeah)


Yeah, country, no city water (nope)
No pizza, man, we didn't even get the order (nope)
But we workin′, we ain′t afraid of labor (yup)
When the works done, we wakin' up the neighbors (come on)
And they live a half a mile away from us
We crank it up louder, wishin′ they would say somethin'
But they wouldn′t anyway, 'cause they on the way
Will we be alive tomorrow? We can only pray

We goin′ way down, way down, way down south
We goin' way down, way down, way down
Then we work, work 'til we can′t work no more
Then we drink, drink ′til we ain't got no more
Then we lay it down, lay it down, lay it down
We goin′ way down

We comin' at you live from the bottom
Right-hand corner, 55 degree weather
But the summer like a sauna, man
You could cut the humidity with a Husqvarna (country)
Damn skippy, can′t wash it off ya
Hard-working daddy, mama mighty bossy
They don't like me runnin′ with my buddy, Bubba, we be gettin' saucy

Like some good ole boys know to do 'round these parts
Whiskey sips got us fit to be tied
Pitching more than a hissy fit
Wide open spaces, out in the sticks
I′m in La Grange tryna holler at some Dixie chicks
Don′t get mad at me, Natalie, I'm just tipsy as piss


We goin′ way down, way down, way down south
We goin' way down, way down, way down
Then we work, work ′til we can't work no more
Then we drink, drink ′til we ain't got no more
Then we lay it down, lay it down, lay it down
We goin' way down South (ooh, ooh)

Way down, like Jones County
We candy cane, we doin′ it like it ain′t

Lemme say it now, the replay on the rounds is Bubba, Danny and me
And we comin' to tear it down, and then we raisin′ a banner
And we ain't takin′ it down, we crankin' the music louder
We makin′ it shake the ground, lay it down, lay it down
Hey, what you know about them loud-ass crackers, the gentlemen of the south?
While we hangin' outta windows and ridin' ′round the town

In a black Duramax jacked way up off the ground
Smoke stacks, big grips, hips and bottle lifts
Drink bottles to the bottom ′cause we take big sips
And little bitty hips, but here that's a fact
Move your bottom, better get it together, now bring it back, y′all

We goin' way down, way down, way down south
We goin′ way down, way down, way down
Then we work, work 'til we can′t work no more
Then we drink, drink 'til we ain't got no more
Then we lay it down, lay it down, lay it down
We goin′ way down south (ooh, ooh)

We goin′ way down south