lirik lagu black magik & cambatta - son of a gun
[chorus]
everybody a shooter in the slum that i’m from
they call a father a papa ’cause they bust it and run
i’m attracted to the ratchets ’cause my mother was one
papa left his prints on her, i’m a son of a gun
[verse 1: cambatta]
he was 22, [?]
buck with a few bucks, unbuckling buns
c~ck pump, back shots just for the fun
the tecs tickle a trigger, it was nuts when he’d come
pa~pa, pa~pa, what is it from?
the sound of me crying for papa’s like dumping at one
i’m just imitating the sound of what i’m gonna become
so you trying to muzzle me, dumb is getting thunder to hum
bull, bully, bullet, wonderfully sung
when i’m thumping the drum it bangs [?]
from a giant gun, a rifle that weighs like a ton
instеad of bullets, it shoots little guns that shoot tiny guns
that shoot mini guns that shoot micro guns
it remind mе of that egg~shaped russian doll cause you get five in one
it’s like a pregnant turtle that’s pregnant with pregnant turtles
that’s pregnant with pregnant sets of turtles inside the gun
i’ll shoot a sh~ll at mich~lle at the sh~ll station
and sh~ll tops i return to the shelter shelf that i
swiped them from sh~lls like snails on webs the lead spider spun
sh~lls like the floor at five guys, the fries are young
a self~diagnosed autistic stim
i finger~fl!ck the pistol cylinder like it’s a fidget spinner
snitches get the cold steel tray like prison dinner
[?]
scratch it off like an instant winner
i’m a son of a gun
[?]
put the bazooka in your mouth and blow your bubble like gum
while i’m waving a .44 like i cut off my thumbs
i name my submachine kelly, that cracker spit mean
when kelly on my side i’m beyoncé, she hardly gets seen
i call my ar kelly, she only 15
if i spray her like that p~ss scene, all your sins get rinsed clean
witness the apocalypse listening to pac & clipse
pocket full of clips, the llama spits like alpaca lips
arms shaped like a capital l
put an o in you
that’s love’s first half when it’s spelled
if i shoot a metal door i’ll make the back of it braille
then i’ll blow a hole in your head like the back of a whale
[chorus]
everybody a shooter in the slum that i’m from
they call a father a papa ’cause they bust it and run
i’m attracted to the ratchets ’cause my mother was one
papa left his prints on her
i’m a son of a gun
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