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Lyrics: Cowboy

By: Kid Rock

Well I'm packing up my game and I'm a head out west
Where real women come equipped with scripts and fake breasts
Find a nest in the hills chill like Flynt
Buy an old droptop find a spot to pimp
And I'm a Kid Rock it up and down your block
With a bottle of scotch and watch lots of crotch
Buy a yacht with a flag sayin' chillin' the most
Then rock that bitch up and down the coast
Give a toast to the sun, drink with the stars
Get thrown in the mix and tossed out of bars
Sip the tejuana

I wanna roam
Find the old town chillin' fools then come back home
Start an escort service, for all the right reasons
And set up shop at the top of four seasons
Kid Rock and I'm the real mccoy

And I'm heading out west sucker...because I wanna be a cowboy baby
With the top let back and the sunshine shining
Cowboy baby
West coast chillin? at hollywood and vine
I wanna be a Cowboy baby
Ridin' at night 'cause I sleep all day
Cowboy baby
I can smell a pig from a mile away

I bet you'll hear my whistle blowin' when my train rolls in
It goes (whistle) like dust in the wind
Stoned pimp, stoned freak, stoned out of my mind
I once was lost, but now I'm just blind
Palm trees and weeds, scabbed knees and rice
Get a map to the stars, find Heidi Fleece
And if the price is right I'm gonna make my bid boy

And let Californy-aye know why they call me
Cowboy baby
With the top let back and the sunshine shining
Cowboy baby
West coast chillin? with the Boone's Wine
I wanna be a Cowboy baby
Ridin' at night 'cause I sleep all day
Cowboy baby
I can smell a pig from a mile away

Yeah...Kid Rock...you can call me Tex
Rollin' sunset woman with a bottle of Becks
Seen a slimmy in a 'vette, rolled down my glass
And said, "Yeah this dick fits right in your ass"
No kiddin', gun slingin', spurs hittin' the floor
Call me Hoss, I'm the Boss, with the sauce in the horse
No remorse for the sherrif, in his eye I ain't right
I'm gonna paint his town red, and paint his wife white
Cause chaos, rock like Amadeus
Find West Coast pussy for my Detroit players
Mack like mayors, ball like Lakers
They told us to leave, but bet they can't make us
Why they wanna pick on me...lock me up and snort away my key
I ain't no G, I'm just a regular failure
I ain't straight outta compton I'm straight out the trailer
Cuss like a sailor...drink like a Mick
My only words of wisdom are just, "Radio Edit." (Suck My Dick)
I'm taking my pick up and down that coast then,
Keep on truckin till I fall in the ocean.

Repeat Chorus

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