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Correct Shotgun Golf Lyrics
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Artists: E
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Epic Beard Men
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Correct Shotgun Golf
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Lyrics:
(The views expressed on this recording are solely those of the artists and by no means do we encourage or condone you and your friends taking over private country clubs with a bunch of shotguns.) (Hey Sage, you wanna play a couple rounds?) (Yeah, man!) (Let's go to the range) (Yeah!) (Let's go to the range) (Yeah!) (Let's go to the range) (Let's go to the range) I was coming apart in public Falling out for the fuck of it Paranoid, where half the half-pack's destroyed Buried it, running it Making love to the rumble strip With a reckless abandon Lusting for Russian Roulette Out running this cancer Had me over-tired, over-time, pay keep on decreasing; You need a place to get away and kick it for the weekend You need some new diversions when the old shit ain't appealing When the rib-crack from the kick-back let you know that you're still breathing Now when the neighbours around, can't play around, get way too loud, gotta wait Ain't no country clubs gon' fuck with us We got guns 'n stuff, okay? Ain't here for the bougie-shit, I'm a lunatic, and the crew's fittin' to go ape Go ahead Get a nine iron and some golf balls, and Some buckshot and a gauge. Ready? Put it in the air, try to blow it out the sky You can hate it if you played it, but don't knock it 'til you tried! Visibility high, plaid, mix and match and combine Camo, ammo in the caddy shack and they asking me: Why? 'Cause they got, we got tee-time, three o'clock Surplus ammunition and don't seem to agree a lot Pocket full of shells, bucket full of balls: It's shotgun golf Let's hit one for Hunter, y'all Like, BOOM. (Fore!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) Oh, shut your mouth (BOOM) Let's play shotgun golf! (Fore!) Let's play shotgun golf! (Fore!) It's not plaid, it is tartan Get the moms mad that I'm shopping at Walmart But it's not for lawn-darts, it's for shotguns And the dad's are all watching! We shoulda started target practice for lack of stationary objects But gentrification doesn't move with the pace of plate tectonics! There's a storm-a-coming, hail the size of golf balls! (Hell naw, they're golf balls!) I'm hearing 'yee-haws!' and 'fuck y'alls' Look at the way that I'm dressed: I'm not even a member You want me outta your lane To go back the way that I came But I seem to remember this used to be a park For picnics, God damn petting-zoos Not electric carts for dipshits with nothing better to do It's not enough you've got all these beautiful acres for your little arrogant elitist game But you need poor people to shame so our: Click-clack, caddy shack, country club get liberated back PTSD/ESPN: we need violence to relax My Jacuzzi weighs a tonne (which fuels me with ammunition) Now my dress-code is SOS mode (Fool, hand me my gun!) 'Cause they got, we got tee-time, three o'clock Surplus ammunition and don't seem to agree a lot Pocket full of shells, bucket full of balls: It's shotgun golf Let's hit one for Hunter, y'all Like, BOOM. (Fore!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) We're running up in your house (BOOM) (Now you're gonna die in that stupid little hat!) It's shotgun golf! (Fore!) It's like shotgun golf! (Fore!) BOOM. (Fore!) (Now you're gonna die in that stupid little hat!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) (Now you're gonna die in that stupid little hat!) It's shotgun golf! BOOM. (Fore!) (Now you're gonna die in that stupid little hat!) Shut your mouth (BOOM) It's shotgun golf! (Fore!) It's like shotgun golf! (Fore!)
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