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You call the police on my son 
You pull a knife, he has a gun 
You call my wife a tramp, I call you a loser 
I drive an Escort, you drive a junked up Cruiser 
I ask my wife what's for dinner, she says slop 
We are inbred white trash cream of the crop 
We finally move in together and become one 
We do the horizontal bop until the morning sun 
We are now husband and wife, sister and brother 
Our kids won't know what to call us, maybe father and mother 
She is now pregnant with our child 
We are exhausted from our rituals and breeding style 
The neighbors say this is wrong that we should just adopt 
We must have our own or there will be no inbred white trash cream of the crop 
Now after 19 months, we have 2 
We steal from the goodwill box to get clothes for me and you 
We use electrical cords for belts and to discipline the children of ours 
We always encourage our kids to reach for the stars 
Their potential has yet to be achieved 
My wife says she has something up her sleeve 
We believe our kids will always be on top 
It helps to be inbred white trash cream of the crop 
Billy Sue is twelve and in the fourth grade 
Charlie does addition, he's got it made 
Our kids will bring us fortune and fame 
Too bad all kids ain't as talented as ours, what a shame 
Now our son hosts an AM radio program called the Swap Shop 
Our kids can feel privileged being inbred white trash cream of the crop 
The love between us is very strong 
We feel as inbreds, it's where we belong 
Our kids have impairments, which brings government  funds 
We keep our inbreds on the priority list they are still number one 
Now my daughter does unbelievable hip hop 
All other kids are jealous because they are not inbred white trash cream of the 
crop

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