Praise Carb & Hold Your Beer (Redneckverse Annual Chaos Song) is the soundtrack to the wildest, greasiest, most gloriously unhinged celebration in Pine Licks history. This ain’t your grandma’s Sunday hymn. It’s got Adolph shootin’ out the lights, RAI preachin’ over CB, Bubba blowin’ breakers, Ditchman servin’ mystery meat, and Rev Diesel blessin’ pies like holy relics. From raccoons on stage to power surges in prayer chairs — this is what happens when rednecks get spiritual. Come join the holy mess at redneckverse.me and remember: if the lights flicker, it’s just RAI feelin’ the spirit. 👢 If this made your beer foam with joy, drop a “CARB BE PRAISED” in the comments. 📢 Subscribe to @Redneckverse for more gospel-fried nonsense from the trailer park prophets. #SouthernRock #Redneckverse #PineLicksFair #RAI #FunnyCountry #VibeFoundry #CBRadio #ChurchOfCarburetor #RevDiesel #MoonshineChaos

Full Throttle Granny is a high-octane redneck rock story about a badass grandma who steals a lifted truck and raises hell across the South. From lipstick notes on the fridge to burning rubber in front of a church, this track is pure outlaw chaos wrapped in gritty guitar riffs and stomping drums. It's fast, it's loud, and it's unapologetically Southern. With moonshine in her cup and a trail of wreckage behind her, Granny proves that age ain’t got nothin’ on horsepower. If you love southern rock, truck anthems, rebel storytelling, and unfiltered redneck energy, Full Throttle Granny is your next ride-or-die track. Crank it up, share it with your crew, and remember: never leave your keys near Meemaw’s gun rack. This is raw, funny, and loud music for anyone who’s ever dropped a gear and disappeared in the dust. Join this here channel and get yourself some sweet perks, y'all! 🤠🔥 Lyrics: Woke up late with a hangin’ head, Truck was gone, so was my meds. Fridge had a note in lipstick red: "Gone racin’. Don't end up dead." Grandma stole my truck, blastin’ outlaw rock, Screamin’ down Main with a bird in stock. No damn brakes, just grit and luck, She’s the queen of chaos in my pickup truck! Sheriff called, said “Boy, sit tight,” Your meemaw’s burnin’ through the night. Tires lit up like Sunday sin, Ran that red light with a whiskey grin. Grandma stole my truck, blastin’ outlaw rock, Screamin’ down Main with a bird in stock. No damn brakes, just grit and luck, She’s the queen of chaos in my pickup truck! Bought some nitro, found a new man, Half her age with a spray-on tan. She hit the border, broke that gate, Yelled “Freedom’s late, but I won’t wait!” She’s got one eye on the road, One on the jar. Cut her off once… You won't get far. Now she's got merch, shirts in a pile, "Meemaw Drags" in redneck style. Wrinkled groupies, wild and mean, She turned that trailer into a dragstrip queen. Grandma stole my truck, moonshine in her cup, Left rubber marks and tore it up. Hit the gas, ain’t givin’ a fxxx— Now the legend rides with a perm and a buck! She outran drones and three state troopers, Flipped ‘em off in her house shoes and supers. Threw a pie at a cop like a hand grenade, Then peeled out screamin’ “I ain't afraid!” She pulled up slow to the old church lot, Gospel crankin’, speakers hot. Tipped her hat to the preacher’s crowd, Then laid a burnout long and loud. “This is unit 69… She just jumped the creek… in reverse. Requestin’ backup… and a priest.” Last I heard… she was racin’ thunder in Arizona. #RedneckRock #SouthernRock #OutlawMusic #TruckSong #MoonshineMusic #FunnyCountry #RockAndRoll #RebelSong #SouthernDrive #FullThrottleGranny #VibeFoundry

Welcome to the Redneckverse (Official Anthem) is a wild, moonshine-soaked theme song that cranks the chaos of Pine Licks up to eleven and then kicks the knob clean off. This is more than just a song. It’s the pounding heartbeat of the most unhinged redneck town ever, where trucks break down, fireworks go off in church parking lots, and someone is always running from the sheriff while holding a half-eaten corndog. Rev Diesel is out here preachin’ the holy word of the carburetor while the choir sips shine and sings completely off-key. Bubba is busy crashing every county fair he can find, Clyde the raccoon is on a crime spree stealing wallets and women’s underwear, Granny is out back racing lawnmowers like her Social Security check depends on it, and President Mallard just passed a new law making bacon an official breakfast currency. Every verse of this song takes you deeper into the Redneckverse, where reality went on a beer run and never came back. It’s messy, it’s rowdy, it’s absolutely unnecessary — and that’s exactly why it’s perfect. 👢 If you get it, you get it. If you don’t, hide behind the nearest hay bale and hope for the best. 💬 Drop a comment with your favorite line or character, or just yell "YEEEEHAWW" like the rest of us. 📢 Subscribe to @VibeFoundry and let Pine Licks take over your speakers every single week. 🔖 #Redneckverse #OfficialAnthem #SouthernRock #FunnyCountry #VibeFoundry #ClydeTheRaccoon #RevDiesel #BubbaLife #GrannyApproved #southernrock #southernhumor

Welcome to Church of the Carburetor – a full-throttle redneck rock explosion straight outta the scrapyard! Forget priests and pulpits – this southern hymn is all wrenches, exhaust flames, and greasy salvation. With stomping beats, distorted slide guitars, gang shouts, and honky-tonk chaos, this song is a rowdy celebration of freedom, rebellion, and chrome-soaked faith. Crank it up, slam the gas, and praise the holy VIN! Lyrics: Built my church from rust and busted parts, Oiled-up pews and checkered hearts. The preacher’s drunk, the choir’s loud, Revvin’ hymns that shake the clouds! Hallelujah! Praise the carburetor! No priest – just fumes and radiator! Raise your wrenches, light that flame, Salvation’s spelled in a VIN and name! Ten commandments spray-painted on a hood, “Don’t trust hybrids, chrome is good!” Baptized sinners in motor oil, Forgive them Lord, they drive with toil! And I say unto y’all... Let the exhaust rise like incense sweet, Let every burnout be a holy feat! No tithe but tools, no robes, just grime – This gospel burns in overdrive time! Hallelujah! Praise the carburetor! No priest – just fumes and radiator! Rev your sins out, stomp that gas, This redneck church will kick your ass! The EPA tried to shut us down, Called it blasphemy on county ground. But we pray loud with tailpipe fire, And burn their papers on a holy pyre! Choir of mufflers, bless this land, Crank the gospel with greasy hands. A sermon screamed from under a hood, “Oil changes make your soul feel good!” We drink communion from jugs of shine, And pass the socket wrench in line. Confess your sins in burnt-out smoke, This ain't no joke – this faith ain’t broke! Hallelujah! Praise the carburetor! No priest – just fumes and radiator! Roll the windows down and scream, This is redneck’s holy dream! When I die, don’t dig no grave, Just bolt me to that F-150 frame. Let the pipes roar and the moon shine bright, I’ll ride through Heaven every night. #RedneckRock #SouthernRock #TruckLife #JunkyardGospel #OutlawMusic #SlideGuitar #CarburetorChurch #HonkyTonkRebellion #FreedomSoundtrack #RowdyCountry

Power’s out, fridges are dead, and the beer is warm — it's redneck Armageddon. Welcome to a town where a blackout turns into chaos, church turns into party, and warm cans ignite revolution. This southern rock banger brings swampy funk, muddy boots, and a battle cry for cold beer. Turn it up, crack it open, and pray to the beer gods: CODE COLD ONE has been declared. Full lyrics: Power’s out from dusk to dawn, Radio’s dead, the AC’s gone. No phone, no light, no satellite swarm— But worst of all... [spoken, scream] the beer ain’t warm. [spoken] scratch that – THE BEER IS WARM. Lightning hit the county pole, Bar went dark, lost all control. Fridge gave out with a dying wheeze, Now warm Corona bringin’ folks to their knees. No power, no ice, just sweaty cans, This ain’t a blackout – it’s end of man! Fuel’s runnin’ low, hope’s turned to spam, We’re prayin’ for ice like it’s Vietnam. Jed’s old genny’s spittin’ smoke, One more hour and that thing’s broke. Hooked the cooler to a stolen fan, Blew more hot air than a congressman! Mayor’s pacing, red with hate, “Launch the beer squad, don’t be late!” Granny’s diggin’ with her broken claw, “Dirt beats shelves at that dang store!” We tossed ‘em in the chicken trough, But hens pecked holes, we drank it off. Cletus tried the creek at night, Now he’s got Giardia and no Coors Light. No power, no ice, just sweaty cans, This ain’t a blackout – it’s end of man! Fuel’s runnin’ low, hope’s turned to spam, We’re prayin’ for ice like it’s Vietnam. Preacher yelled, “We need revival!” Not for souls, but beer survival. Pastor tried to bless the fridge, But baptized it with homemade swig. Sheriff sobbed, “I miss that chill,” Then shot a keg just for the thrill. Generators coughed, wires all fried, Some say civilization died. But Hank built one from mower scraps, Beer got cold – whole town claps! We cracked those cans like victory bells, Cold foam sprayed and someone yelled. We don’t need lessons, we need ice— And maybe a fridge that don’t smell like mice. Screw your phones, and screw the farm, Just fill the tank and sound the alarm— For what matters most... Keep that damn beer cold ‘til morn’. #CodeColdOne #RedneckRock #SouthernRock #FunnyCountrySong #BeerCrisis #RedneckLife #PowerOutageSong #HonkyTonk #HillbillyHumor #VibeFoundry