Redneck Ferrari

Ain't from Italy, ain't from a lot. Built this bastard in a gravel

lot. Plywood hood and a prayer to hell. Smells like gas

and poor life choices as well. Seat soaking sweat and fast food grease.

Dashboard buzzing like a meth head bee. She don't idle, nah.

She throws a fit every time I turn a key, I say,

"Well, shit." County boy signs, souls that can't see.

If it explodes, that's a me problem, not a we. Yeah.

It's a redneck Ferrari, ugly as fuck. Runs on moonshine, dreams,