500 Proof - Jazz Mafia, The Shotgun Wedding Quintet, Mike Olmos

Let me start off by saying it’s a pleasure to rap

Over beats, hip-hop is a treasured attack

Whole world on your neck with the pressure to snap

You can let it all out, whats fresher than that?

I’m on the microphone in a furious jam

Making freestyle connections and a serious stand

With two bar maids and a delirious fan

On an eight day bender with a five piece band

Keep your eyes on the road, your hands in the air

With your ear to the street your thoughts of despair

I’m a light hearted mic hog and ghost of the future

Music is made by man, not computer

Put that in your microchip, I might go flip the word

See ya on the dancefloor blurred

Shut down the club, we won’t stop the beat

Dick, crack up the drums and we’ll turn up the heat quick

We’re gonna let you know

Just where we’re coming from

We’re gonna let you know

Just where we’re coming from

Undone did it, I heard your lungs hit it

Meet in highschool, but stay uncommited

That’s unpermitted, I’m gone in a minute

My tie’s all a tangle and my suits unfitted

Loud winds speaking, the decimals peaking

Scare my neighborhood like a fat man shrieking

Symphonic uncut jazz with a soul control

Witching and preaching over the choir the melody taking you higher

Here to let you know boy, oh boy

I write words, but don’t call me Tolstoy

That’s an unabashed past review to Ice Cube

From Croatian, Irish, drunk, country ass white dude

And I don’t like beer, they taste like water

But I’ll drink Stella Artois and bump Chris Potter

It’s hard to find good things these days

Like how I scratch?

Come and meet my DJ

This is the Shotgun Wedding Quintet

This is the Shotgun Wedding Quintet

It’s a long ride, to the next state

Night and day blend, like a mix tape

Roll the window down, get your cold blast

We’re on the county line, with no gas

I’m an optimist, gotta have faith

Can you rock with this, at a mad pace?

No need to front, get your chin checked

It’s just the Shotgun Wedding Quintet

We’re not mystical, yes unpredictable

Get high, We’re dipping low, hop on your tippy toes

I’m hyper flipping those two pendant ripping flows

I end up sick in those, catch clap and skipping shows

Yo Cone is doing it

A Cheek is doing it