Shotgun by Atmosphere
[Slug]
You motherfuckers ain't on my shelf
I should jump back and try to french kiss myself
The boy fell in the well and lived to tell
Put my voice in the mix, make the winter melt
I'm the best thing since a fresh loaf of sliced bread
Sitting on the bed between a pair of nice legs
I'm sex, white flag, ice bag, wipe rag
I'm twice the mess but a fraction of the price tag
Back stage in a rat cage
But when I bend these bars, everybody get to gas face
They said it was dead, in that case
I'ma get revenge, I'ma make rap pay
Now run and tell the sun I'm turning up the light
I might arrive on the plane, train, bus or bike
You can fuss and fight, but it's just despite
Cause it functions right when I cup this mic
No feedback, ease back, let the beat crack
But Uncle Sam said he wanna see tax
Make the beeswax, no relax
Run around the map and leave tracks
You can call me Sean like nothing's wrong
I'm the early dawn, I'm the dirty bum
My thoughts get drawn on a JumboTron
If your jaw don't drop you can hum along, come on!
[Chorus: 2X]
Shotgun, the raw one
We the hot sauce on y'alls tongue
We don't stop till it's all done
So turn it up till the cops come
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