(verse)
Yeah, sittin’ on the porch with my notebook open,
Got a fifth of Jack and some thoughts I’m soakin’.
Wrote My Name Is in a trailer, you remember that?
Now I’m lookin’ back like, damn, where the center at?
Dug ditches in this game with a mic and a shovel,
Made a castle outta chaos, now it’s startin’ to crumble.
They say “go back to the old Slim,” well buddy I tried,
But the old me ain’t dead — he just learned how to hide.
Used to spit venom with a Marlboro drawl,
Now I sip whiskey, let the memories brawl.
Middle fingers still up like antennas in the sky,
I’m just cleaner with the words, but the rage didn’t die.
(chorus)
I got boots on my feet, scars on my name,
Still the same outlaw, just tamed by the flame.
They want Slim back, better pray to the stars—
'Cause I still got the smoke, and I still write bars.
Yeah, boots and bars, the roots and the scars,
I paved my own lane, now I’m shootin’ for Mars.
(verse)
They called me crazy, then called me a legend,
Then tried to cancel me — same damn sentence.
I walked through hell with my notebook burnin’,
Every bridge that I crossed, I left it churnin’.
I said sorry to Kim, to Hailie, to Mom,
Then dropped a verse that exploded like a car bomb.
Fifty million fans, still feelin’ alone,
Just me and this mic like it's carved in stone.
I cleaned out my closet and found more dirt,
So I folded the pain into every verse.
They don’t want peace — they want a relapse,
So here’s a 12-gauge line and a kickback trap.
(chorus)
I got boots on my feet, scars on my name,
Still the same outlaw, just tamed by the flame.
They want Slim back, better pray to the stars—
'Cause I still got the smoke, and I still write bars.
Yeah, boots and bars, the roots and the scars,
I paved my own lane, now I’m shootin’ for Mars.
(verse)
(Ayy) They thought I was done, just chillin’ in plaid?
Now I’m back in your ears like a sinus attack.
Few people love, but most motherfuckers hate it —
So I smile through the shit like I damn made it.
Country vibe? Cool. Let me turn it to wrath,
Let me crack a beer bottle on the track and laugh.
Rappers act big but they shook like dice,
I’m the scarecrow in this field — full of birds and mice.
Sayin’ “Slim fell off,” now that’s rich, ironic,
Y’all been suckin’ since Encore — I’m chronic.
Redneck Slim in a F-150,
Still spit filthy, flow too shitty.
Bar so cold, make Nashville freeze,
Then blow through the roof like G’s with C-4 keys.
Yeah, I’m back in the booth with a bang and a pen,
You want peace? Call Drake. You want war? Say when.
I got hay in my boots and rage in my chest,
Now The Next Time you doubt me? Just say it in jest.
(final chorus)
I got boots on my feet, scars on my name,
Still the same outlaw, just tamed by the flame.
They want Slim back, better pray to the stars—
'Cause I still got the smoke, and I still write bars.
Yeah, boots and bars, the roots and the scars,
I paved my own lane, now I’m shootin’ for Mars.
