This is a song about "Country folk"

All you fucking bloggin' faggots yappin' up that extra shit

They say its a free country but im not buying it

Yeah, they call me country grammar

Hold up, loud packs like i got cancer

A country preachin' ideals of all breeds of people bein' equal

Inside of me, but the thoughts it tells me are still evil

So if it comes down, may the best man win

Went to another country that's call migration

We young folk here, spittin' raw street knowledge

With rhyming skills, you in amish village

The ones you trust to lead your country are lethal people

Get a whole lot of you-know and she bald like an eagle

Branded a son of middle-class folk,

Before you sign, you’ll be blind if you’ve been broke

And firm his beliefs... his heart made of stone

Different country and time zone