Epic Beard Men - Shotgun Golf

(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 dipshit's 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)

Written by:
BERNARD JR DOLAN, KYLE SMITH, PAUL F LANDRY

Publisher:
Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing

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