I really wasn’t prepared for what transpired during the Kid Rock interview, and I am still emotionally recovering. What I thought was just going to be a moment of sharing cigars, drinking some bourbon, and discussing the processes and influences that gave us Kid Rock’s new album, Sweet Southern Sugar, became a twisted hell ride from a human brain that is not only riddled with Mad Cow disease, but is also completely addled with scar tissue and rampant brain damage.
Kid Rock’s Sweet Southern Sugar isn’t just the audio equivalent of fucking your sister on a confederate flag towel in the back of your Chevy with a hemi at a Luke Bryan concert, it’s the voice of the oppressed; just like the dogs in the RISPCA commercials, the mid western white Christians whose rights and safety are under fire by Black Lives Matter, homosexuals, and scientists also have a voice.
If it wasn’t for brave individuals like Kid Rock and our President, who else would stand up for these marginalized white folk?
As I learned from Kid Rock’s Sweet Southern Sugar, all we need is whiskey, God, and guns to fix all of our country’s problems. Why do we keep trying to look to science and logic?
I‘d like to finish this entry with some choice lyrics off of Sweet Southern Sugar (this could eventually be one of our senators….never forget):
[Verse 1] Momma looking good in some jeans all ripped / Got a baby in her belly and a baby on her hip / Little toe headed rascal peeing off the porch / Daddy got a shotgun looking for a stork / Oh lord
[Chorus] And that’s po-dunk / Don’t give a flying hillbilly fuck / I said po-dunk / House full of youngins and a yard full of junk / Love us if you can, sorry if you can’t / Holla if you is, shut up if you ain’t / Po-o-o-o, Po-Dunk!
[Verse 2] Bible by the bed and a bottle sitting pretty / Pigskin on the TV, bacon in a skillet / Bunch of fake flamingos flocking by the ditch / (Can I get a witness?!)
[Verse 3] Put your adult beverage over your head / If you’re bat shit crazy and your neck is red / As the dirt on the road where we all grew up / Sing something with me if you ain’t nothing but… / (You ain’t nothing but, you ain’t nothing but, you ain’t nothing but)
[Chorus] Po-dunk / Don’t give a flying hillbilly fuck / I said po-dunk / House full of youngins and a yard full of junk / Love us if you can, sorry if you can’t / Holla if you is, shut up if you ain’t / Po-o-o-o, Po-Dunk! / Po-o-o-o, Po-Dunk! / Po-Dunk! / Po-Dunk! / Po-Dunk!