When you're driving through the ghetto
In your hillbilly truck
'Cause you made two wrong turns
And suddenly you're outta luck
And you look up in the projects
And you start to smell that weed
Lock your doors, turn the windows up
Pray for the light to go green

And you better be packing
That old 9-double-M
Rolling through Atlanta
With that scared-ass white boy grin
And you're comin' back from hunting
But you shot through all your clips
You call the cops but they just laugh
Said, "We ain't comin' in"
If you get a flat
You better drive on the rim
And you better be packing
Oh, you better be packing

And when you take a road trip
After dark and you pull off
The only place that's open
Is a run down quickie mart
And you want that Copenhagen
But you have to go inside
There's meth-heads drinkin' red bull
Underneath a Bud Light sign

So you'd better be packing
That old 9-double-M
Rolling through Chicago
With that scared-ass white boy grin
And you're comin' back from hunting
But you shot through all your clips
You call the cops but they just laugh
Said, "We ain't comin' in"
If you get a flat
You better drive on the rim
And you better be packing
Oh, you better be packing

And we ain't in Kansas anymore
Hell we're in south LA
Where camo pants and spit cups mean
I'm in a rival gang

So I better be packing
That old 9-double-M
Rolling through Miami
With that scared-ass white boy grin
And I'm comin' back from fishing
But I didn't pack no clips
Call the cops but they just laugh
Said, "No Inglés, my friend"
If you get a flat
You better drive on that rim
And you better be packing
Oh, you better be packing

Don't be driving through the ghetto
In your hillbilly truck