Church (Pooh, you the GOAT boy) Hah I ain't got no beef on the mic, I already ate what's worth it Then threw the rest out in the back, that's China sick, my lines COVID Yeah boy, I'm the Tennessean, whip through the city in a European No mask, so I know you see me makin' rap great for the Southern people Churchman, every stage a steeple, got the juice like beetle, beetle Big wingspan like a fuckin' eagle, would still murder beats if it was illegal Y'all beach made, eh, look, a seagull Contaminate hip-hop waters, got pipes like BP biodiesel You ain't got a thinkin' brain, in most disses I don't gain To you this is just a game, but I own like five arcades Insert quarter then complain, can't level up, not your domain You ain't slick, you hydroplane, stupidity keeps me entertained You can pack men in a studio and still won't get a single gold If all them got a problem with stickin' coke up their fuckin' nose Yeah, damn dude that was dope This next album goin' gold, sellin' ten tickets to a show Mom and dad in the front row, bought the other eight at the front door Numbers fall like a row of dominoes, if you see me you would prolly strike a pose Then take me to court while wearin' a dress and MeToo me and my bankroll I'm thirty years old with a new Lambo and I do not take no stank hoes I'm Nashville-born, and it's always warm like a deep freeze always stay froze And you hide your face like a Taliban bitch and get beat with these sandals And I'm sick and tired of hearin' hearsay of what who said when they were here there Can't take an L from a hillbilly 'cause when you think about it you get scared I tell the radio to go fuck theirself, then they play my track in the mornin' What I do made Bobby Bones tell the truth about number 1's and charting 97.9, nah 101.1 The Beat jam, Dolowite and Scooby, who's Niko Moon fam? I don't know, I'm not a tourist, don't know his hit, ain't gonna learn it Prolly somethin' 'bout big trucks, dust turnin', and logs burnin' Don't forget the moonshine, 50 proof Get drunk or die tryin', flipped on roof, hmm-hmm-hmm Crackheaded wackjobs call me odd and always talk when I ain't around, fact More spins than a merry-go-round that's been around since the 90s bitch This chitter-chatter sayin' that I suck, I'm on your fuckin' land skinnin' all your bucks So when you're washin' walkin' Music City you can hit my brand new record label up