They talk way too much
Spend music way to little
And what they usually play
Aint really all that great
Whats up DJ
Seems all you play
Each and every day
When I turn it on
It’s the same �ole song
Nobody wants to hear

Well I’m a product of
The bocefus generation
Now what they call country
Really gets me aggravated
Well it’s a fact
To many acts
With a big contract
Can’t sing a not
That song they wrote
Aint music to my ears

I miss old Johnny cash
When I’m in the car these days
Cause when I turn on the radio
It makes me, make me wanna say

Hell no
Turn it off
Come on
Hell no
Sounds bad
Who sings that song!
Back to back
They play it all day long
Bring back the days of Conway twitty
When singers were good
And songs were country

He’s got a ’64
Plush lime green impala
He’s got a big pimp daddy attitude
He’s got a gold tooth grill
And some spinnin wheels
That he had to steel
It’s the boomiest
It’s the bassiest
And those baggy pants are weird

He’s a product
Of the snoop-dog generation
Ive never seen a white boy
You’ve so much activate him
Well my ears are shot
Cause I bet he’s got
100,000 watts
And a dozen amps
Cause it breaks my lamps
Each time he drives by here

I shout out from the house
“Keep it down I’m tryin to sleep!�
Then he pops in dr drai
As he flips a bird at me

Hell no
Turn it off
Come on
Hell no
Sounds bad
Who the heck sings that song!
The kid next door
He plays it all night long
Feels like im livin in Rap City
It’s way to loud for this here hillbilly

Yeah, yeah,
Am I tired of doin these parodies
Of Toby, Kenny, Montgomery gentry
Hell, Hell, Hell noooooooo

(Breakdown)

Hell no
Turn it off
Come on
Hell no
Sounds bad
Who sings that song!
Back to back
They play it all day long
Somethins wrong here in Music City
Everything it sounds so shhhh

Hell no
Turn it off
Come on
Hell no
Sounds bad
Who the heck sings that song!
Back to back
They play it all day long
Bring back the days of Conway twitty
When singers were good
And songs were country