My Own Lane Lyrics - Upchurch

If I die and you forget my name 

I won't cast no shadow, I won't throw no shade 

And if I never get to walk along the hall of fame 

It won't bother me none 

Because I'm in, I'm in my own lane 

Own lane, with my own sound, with my own look, 

With my own money, with my own cars 

With my own bars, with my own trucks, 

With my own house, with my own chick, 

I don't want nothing of y'alls 

And by me saying that with the numbers 

I got they say it takes big balls 'cause the big leagues see me 

And I might fuck a preposition up for myself as a nobody dude 

Coming up from Tennessee 

Yeah they talk to me like I'm a fucking idiot 

And they can get me a life I can't get on my own 

But I don't want the life that these airheads live 

But I guess I can't get it through that thick-ass skull 

Sony hit me up and said they wanted the name 

Erased from the song that I did with Luke Combs 

'Cause they don't want him labeled as a racist 

And the song "Outlaw" don't fit his image at all 

So if you look on YouTube at the same damn song 

His name got erased about eight months ago 

And I was worried if I didn't take his name off the label 

Someone was gonna come sue me bro 

But I never said nothing, I just brushed it off, 

I was always taught to let bullshit go 

So "can you get a outlaw" after I'm gone? 

I'm not sure but hopefully someone 

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If I die and you forget my name 

I won't cast no shadow, I won't throw no shade 

And if I never get to walk along the hall of fame 

It won't bother me none 

Because I'm in, I'm in my own lane 

My own lane, full of black rubber and spray paint, the smell of muscle cars and trucks with old leaks 

Shot stills burning way way high on the ridge, 

I know where they're all at but I ain't no snitch 

I'd rather be a outlaw than a weak-ass bitch, 

That's how you end up wrecked laying up in a ditch 

And motherfuckers don't get it, but they single me out, 

For being too damn real 'cause I ain't a sellout 

Go ahead, smile away, put the cash in your pocket, 

You can be recycled but never ever me bud 

I'm normally Churchman, sipping Jack on a Sunday, 

A bad motherfucker, hope God forgives me 

Hell, what am I saying? 

Every angel falls, God made whiskey and the weed in my palm 

And he gave me the soul to pour off on my songs 

And feed off of the emotion I stay dragging along 

So with that being said when I get to the Gates 

Need a motor in our Chevy with an old tailgate 

A bottle of the devil's cut in an unlimited tanker, 

Gasoline so clean I could possibly drink it 

Just spit flames for my fanbase and my last name, 

Underground kicking I ain't even talk about my grave 

Talking 'bout the legacy I'll leave laying up in my state, 

The man who never gave his heart to be a fucking fake 

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If I die and you forget my name 

I won't cast no shadow, I won't throw no shade 

And if I never get to walk along the hall of fame 

It won't bother me none 

Because I'm in, I'm in my own lane