Boltgun (feat. Falconshield)

Another day amid the chaos

Never seem to get a day off

What can I do? Say to the Emperor: "Hey, boss!

Can I have a break?" I'd get a little more than laid off

Luckily for me, don't want to call it a day

My career's flipping cool and the tool of my trade

Is a Bolt-Bolt-Boltgun all in a day's work

Roll straight up and put my tool in your face, uh

The stink of singeing blood and steel

No words portray how good it feels

When your face flays off like an orange peel

And you taste your own flesh as your last meal

Oh, son

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

I can tell you now that'll be no fun

So do me a small favour, old chum

And dissolve as I assault you with my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun, Boltgun, Boltgun

Eight foot bloody high, but I'm still a stocky guy

Pull out the heater like a pre-warmed banoffee pie slice

Put out hits on repeat more than my Spotify

I stick a bolt to your brain, that's an occupied mind

Laying bodies on ice like a hockey fight, time

To switch out the clip like a copyright strike

Warhammer fan, I'd hammerfan, but I can't see the hammer

Still, I'm licking shots as if there's salt on my tequila slammer

The stink of singeing blood and steel

No words portray how good it feels

When your face flays off like an orange peel

And you taste your own flesh as your last meal

Oh, son

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

I can tell you now that'll be no fun

So do me a small favour, old chum

And dissolve as I assault you with my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun, Boltgun, Boltgun

I'm a man on a mission, pack enough ammunition

To last 'till the last of attackers is lacking a living

That's a distinctive pattern

I've sank enough ships with my Kraken

That entire fleets and flotillas are flattened

Tortilla wrap them in flak, and then snack on the shrapnel

'Till my biscuit barrel's rattling

Guess that's the way the biscuit's cracking

Picking and packing my clips, I know when to hold them

Racking up hits, I fold 'em

That bloody quick, you panic and struggle to hold on

To the stuff in your colon

The stink of singeing blood and steel

No words portray how good it feels

When your face flays off like an orange peel

And you taste your own flesh as your last meal

Oh, son

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

I can tell you now that'll be no fun

So do me a small favour, old chum

And dissolve as I assault you with my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun

You don't wanna smoke from my Boltgun, Boltgun, Boltgun