Welcome to the Wolf cave! YelaWolf! Me my man, Ben Hameen She gave, Alabama Connect Oh, you wanna know about the south? Ok, play them the Dirty South Welcome home then
Welcome to the cold hard truth: Bama Dead Native Americans spirits swarm through the foothills And whisper through the weeping willows. It moves like a water rapid dancing through your meadows Diming lights from thick fog and gravel paths Footprints of a ghost in the wet grass That lead into invisible prison cells past The weird rust is symbolic of the blood bath Just take a look The younger generations are committing the worst crimes They lost in a tangle of evident guidelines Controlled by the unseen and claim one king And worship a image despite lies and covered schemes The halt puts a chill in the midnight breeze Scavengers on the hunt get whatever is free The breath of the devil throwing metal debris at lost sons
Caught in the wilderness of the south you better Run for the ditch, there's locusts in the sky Hide in the cellar, propellers are humming by In the Bible Belt In the Bible Belt Freight trains shaking the walls and taking lives, Stain glass breaking, the steeple's on fire In the Bible Belt In the Bible Belt
Welcome to my land, my home: Bama Where the clouds turn green, Where The Clan marches up and down the small town streets Where cops look for excitement Where the oak tree split and burn form the blue lightning Where the plantation still stands as an undying reminder Where the Rebel flag waves as an undying reminder Some try to find there way out It ain't easy The economy's bad and most searching for a freebie In fact, hustlers of every color stay lookin' for the cracks, and loopholes, They stoop low and do jacks With new clothes and shoes. Hoes, they turn tricks And follow each-other cause momma just don't give a shit See black lights and incense they feel roused Cause no church can soul search like mushrooms, So young minds, they do lines to feel numb.
Like a thick black cloud of smoke is drifting over the evergreens The air we breathe ain't safe no more momma. Naw They polluted the whole city mamma. The whole city is Filled with thoughts, education, and short dreams. The youth dying to live be all it seems To be all that we have momma, But I ain't throwin' up my hands momma. No I an't throwin' up my hands To many grand schemes I must speak To get free in my mind. If I can free my body Then I write my song alone in the seas, And put a message in the bottle For the broken seas to reach everybody. I know it's impossible, But I hope these words convey to hit one soul To eternally echo through my home and known With the roots of a child with a son that ain't done.