Rolling Stone: The Killer Inside Kid Rock
February 26, 2015
Ten miles outside town on a two-lane county road, just past the trailer park and across the street from Hank Williams Jr.'s place, there's a driveway with a poster that says "Re-Elect Sheriff Russell Thomas." Beyond a gate, a dirt road winds around a small lake, past a "Don't Feed the Hippies" sign, leading to a brown double-wide trailer (WiFi password: Troublewide). Kid Rock stands outside puffing a cigar, his ponytail spilling out of an orange hunter's hat. "Welcome to L.A.!" he says, meaning Lower Alabama. "I thought you were coming yesterday. We got our days screwed up. We cooked fuckin' chitlins!"