Boots Dug Deep 👑 Country Lunatic #countryrap

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I make music for the hard-ass white folk —
Not them soft-jawed, rainbow-chasin' joke folks.
For the ones still tradin' fists ‘stead of tweets,
Still standin’ on their word, boots dug deep.

If my pride offends you... good.
You just the type that’d fold in the woods.
I don’t post threats — I mail 'em with blood.
Country Lunatic — the name feared in the mud.

Ain’t no peace where I come from, boy — it’s peril,
Either tuckin’ a tool or you stuffed in a barrel.
I done sold meth by the Bible belt buckle,
Cookin’ with ghosts in a rusted out double.

Got a chopped Mossberg, name carved in the grip,
Snitch got tagged, now he fish food drift.
I ain’t with the cliques, bitch — I’m with the clicks,
Gun sound orchestra, chambered and swift.

I run pills through the Ozarks, guns through the pines,
Robbed dealers in daylight, laughed at the fines.
This that Dodge Ram death march, trunk full of secrets,
You rap for a look — I rap with demons.

White boy menace, the woods my confessional,
I baptize beef with a blade and a sentinel.
Talk slick, I’ll put steel through your dental,
Lyrics like indictments — all confidential.


Boots dug deep, I ain’t movin’ for shit,
From the sticks to the slums, I was built for this grit.
I don’t rap for likes, I don’t pose for clout —
I cook sin in a skillet and air ‘em out.

Boots dug deep, I don’t run, I stomp,
If the law get close, we burn that swamp.
White trash Don, with a devilish charm,
And my fam don’t talk, they *bare arms*.

I extort, I enforce, I educate pain,
Use a crowbar sermon to rewire your brain.
Y’all TikTok thugs ain't built for the dirt,
I run with felons who laugh while they hurt.

I keep a throwaway piece under my seat,
With a box of clean tags and some meth to eat.
Ain’t no fantasy shit — it’s felonies written,
I speak what I’ve lived, not the lies y’all spittin’.

Went to court in a flannel, cuffs on the wrist,
Told the judge “kiss my ass,” then blew him a kiss.
I was raised on hate, on dope and despair,
Where a hug’s just a setup and love’s never there.

Backwoods scholar, with a gangsta tongue,
I rhyme like a preacher with a Glock in his lung.
You can’t fake what’s branded in blood —
I’m Country Lunatic, bitch, I *came from the mud*.

Boots dug deep, I don’t bow, I brawl,
Give a fuck who you know — I know the law.
I done paid with my knuckles, paid with time,
Still got dirt on my name and murder in rhyme.

Boots dug deep, in a world full of sheep,
I’m the wolf on the ridge that you pray don’t creep.
This ain’t rap, this a goddamn war prayer,
With brass knucks on and a crooked stare.

You want feel-good music?
Turn on your Top 40 trash.
This here?
This is white trash gospel, dipped in blood and diesel.

Country Lunatic…
Backwoods Don.
Boots dug deep, bitch.
Now bury your excuses.


Country Lunatic
F.O.W.B INDEPENDENT RECORDS

All music in this video is original and owned by me. I hold full commercial rights to distribute, monetize, and promote this content across all platforms. No copyrighted material was used without permission.

#lunaticnation #lunaticnation4life #whiteboy