Son Of A Gun

by Miggs Son Daddy

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'Son Of A Gun' is the debut solo album from Savannah, GA-based MC, Miggs. The 13-track album was almost fully produced by his brother, Freak Tha Monsta with additional production from some Savannah-based collaborators. There is also live instrumentation through out the album to provide a more genuine feel to the music. 'Son Of A Gun' is packed with diverse features, fresh beats and animated lyricism from beginning to end.

'Son Of A Gun' is a hip-hop album executed by a natural visual artist. Each song was crafted to illustrate an atmosphere, story or message. Utilizing the same elements as in visual design, Miggs uses composition, balance of light and dark values, clean line work and a whole lot of colors to create a uniquely personal experience.


released May 19, 2014



all rights reserved


Miggs Son Daddy Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Miggs was born and raised in NY and is currently based out of Savannah, GA. He delivers quality, thought-provoking vocals over a vast range of musical canvases. After a successful debut with 'Son Of A Gun' Miggs is continually producing progressive music and bringing it to bigger stages.

'Son Of A Gun' (2014)
'Beyond The Elements' (2014) 'Happy Thoughts' (2016)
'SPEAKS' (2016)
... more

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Track Name: Toccata & Fugue
Take some chalk and draw a circle surrounding the ceremony
Light a candle and place it directly in the center for me
This is the story of glory and riches, dormant with all of your wishes
Exploring more than what’s written, sometimes is morbid and wicked
Orbital thinkin’ interested in different perspectives
Infinite dimensions, shifting the spectrum, lessons and questions
‘Cause the ego in you, it recognizes the evil in you
I believe it, ‘cause I’ve seen what that power turns people into
Read a little past the preface- see it’s not what you expected
My method’s reflective of the bigger picture, no singular section
Literary tools equipped, lunatic, think I’m losin’ it
Cooler than Ferris Bueller, I’m too legit, Fuck the stupid shit
This is my rubric written in ruby ink for you to get
Ya molecules in sync with the luminous way I’m groovin’ it
Super sick with the venom while you marvel at the villain
I’m carvin’ initials in him with a disc like I was Krillin
Fillin’ cracks with a lyrical spackle- what a spectacular tactic
Radical, graphic palette, suggestive, progressive, yet classic
Blasphemous basilisk, even my breath is miraculous
This passage is sacrilege, but my raps are immaculate
Burnin’ Cannabis Sativa with leaders from other planets
Seated lavish, drinkin’ Cab out of chalices, eatin’ Ceasar salads
Feasible matters to those who easily shatter, yo
Repeatin’ this blabber could possibly lead to the Rapture
Barbarian stature, chillin’ like a bear with a Bachelor’s
In a chair with a backwards hat, and a pair of flappers bearing their flappers
Rappers actin’ funny, practicing wackness for money
If your askin’ Sonny, all I say is, “Fuck it, man. Pass me a Dutchie…”
Track Name: Not A Rapper
I kick flows to make your speakers blow
Unbelievable! In fact, im a myth like the nematode
But it ain’t nothin’ Funny
I create material and make it disappear like Mysterio
So… what’chu want, dunny?
Miggs Sonny picks chicks, give ‘em dick, I’m a bit nutty
Give me lip, and I’ll show you the punishment
Pun style, “Ooh, nice blouse. Let me unbutton it”
Come and get it, I let it off like a missle
Unpredictable, I know, but the fitted’s always official
I know what you need. Hit the Dutch and breathe
And stick with me like the sticky green from the Lifted Tree
I’m LRG, I transcend the medium
But you don’t understand the meaning of what I’m meaning, um
To put it straight, I make tapes for the Gods’ taste
My mind spray and sling more yae than Scarface

Now I ain’t got a whole lot to say
But hey, I’m not a rapper I just talk a lot
I ain't really so good with hooks
But look, I'm not a rapper I just rhyme a lot
They're like "Miggs, you should be a superstar"
But na, I'm not a rapper I just rap a lot

I spit raps that bring the essence back
We the best at that, F.E.Beast on an instrumental track
And it ain’t nothin’ sweet
I’ll beat an MC, leaving nothin’ but his teeth, like the Cheshire Cat
Jack… what’chu tryin’ to accomplish?
I polish demonic logic and drop it like catastrophic atomics
Bombin’ college crowds with knowledge that’s not allowed
In the criteria, cafeteria or the housing grounds
Now how that sound, fucker?
Harder than the guitar, but smoother than butter
Go and find another rhymer that’s hotter with the saliva
I get liver when I’m wired, kick a verse, ignite a fire
You might see me smile, I advise you not to get it twisted
A collision with me will leave you crippled, crooked and shifted
You’re finished… I diminish the biggest and baddest
Verbally vaporize him and make him vanish

Now I ain’t got a whole lot to say
But hey, I’m not a rapper I just spit a lot
I ain't really so good with hooks
But look, I'm not a rapper I just smoke a lot
They're like "Miggs, you should be a superstar"
But na, I'm not a rapper I just draw a lot

I illustrate iller than who you imitate
Innovate at an elevated mental state
And it ain’t nothin’ meant to sophisticate
If you can’t get it straight, you’re not meant to assimilate
Hey… it’s not your everyday, average
I’m not a rapper, I’m an artist, who happens to be a master
Microphone controller, move the crowd with the steadiest hand
Anyone try to battle, I’ll strip ‘em of 21 grams
See the man in the flesh, and the rest are forgotten
Rotten Apple, all across the world, ain’t a force that could stop him
M-I-double G’s in effect! I know you’re hearin’ it, though
I hope you’re feelin’ the flow, it’s so spiritual
I could bring the realness back with just one track
So turn it up as loud as it goes and just bump that
I design timeless rhymes with the wave of a pen
So timeless, you should bring it back and play it again

Now I ain’t got a whole lot to say
But hey, I’m not a rapper I just fuck a lot
I ain't really so good with hooks
But look, I'm not a rapper I just eat a lot
They're like "Miggs, you should be a superstar"
But na, I'm not a rapper I just read a lot
Track Name: You
You could’ve been the one to make me write a love song
We were best friends ever since we were freshmen
You looked good enough to eat with a fork
But I had a girlfriend that I keep in New York
And we were tryin’ to work it out, but it wasn’t workin’ out
Plus I couldn’t help staring every time you’re working out
And to be clear, I ain’t the type to be cheatin’
But every weekend, we would hit the pool. your body had me geekin’
You would always hear me speakin’ heated on the phone
Stressed ‘cause my girl felt she needed me at home
Pissed ‘cause I’m growin’ and she wasn’t growin’ with me
And I thought that if I broke it off, then you could be my chick, see
I could do it quickly, just give me the Summer
But it’s a bummer, ‘cause you already started givin’ out your number
We never expressed all the feelings that were under the flirtin’
So all I could do is wonder what’s never been certain


You had this new dude who should’ve been X’d
But it ain’t my place, so I thought it’s best if I step to the next
I was chillin’, single and livin’ iller
Hittin’ butter-pecan, chocolate, even delivered vanilla
But still I noticed you in this shitty relationship
You deserve better, he ain’t appreciating shit
I thought “Damn, what you wastin’ your love for?”
I’m no Pro, but you should’ve been lookin’ at the front door
You knew what the Son saw in you, didn’t you?
I told you I could treat you better, you thought I was kiddin’ you
That old familiar feeling was never lost
So every lady that didn’t entertain me got tossed
Besides, I was getting wrapped up in rap stuff
We’d party and act up, I’d spark trees and splash cups
I never thought you’d be excited a bit
Until I caught you watchin’ me perform, bitin’ your lip


You knew you wouldn’t be the one to make the first move
And I knew it too… What should I do?
I caught you off guard with a kiss and left you frozen
St. Pat’s- they napped while we dove in
Head first- and graduated to infatuated rather rapidly
That’s the way we naturally gravitated
We had out doubts, things we couldn’t control like
People said it’s wrong, but nothin’ ever felt so right
You had your whole life planned out
I’m that beard bearin’ barbarian no one wants to tell their fam ‘bout
I ran south with a particular vision
But now a division is forcing me to come to a decision
Should I stay, play, color and throw it away?
Or should I go, where who knows, we’ll probably grow old?
I know we chose smart
You had my whole heart
But now it’s over, so I’ll use our story for dope art
Track Name: Son Of A Gun (Ft. F.E.B. & Electric Grandma)
Welcome to the show folks! I’m your host
MC Miggy D, yo let’s start with a toast
Peace to the Gods, Earths, Moon and the Stars
But it’s the one and only Son who got the grooviest bars
I know you felt it! Psychedelic relics from my felt-tip
Demented mental, masterfully presented
So respect it- the way we chef’d it, eclectic
So unpredictable, not even Spidey could sense it
I’m fly… like fresh dog shit in the Summer
Fly like a blue shell and the kid was a plumber
I need a rubber, I’m a motherfucker, son of a gun
A troublemaker, lover and a hater bundled in one

(Electric Grandma)
Once we hit the lights, u know it's just begun
You gotta try to catch him, ‘cause he's on the run
He's on another level and there's none above
He's a son of a gun

You know he's not a rapper and it's just for fun
But everybody's sayin’ that he's number one
Oh, how i love him, he is such a stud
He's a son of a gun

So check it! The smooth operator of flavor
Tellin’ sonic tales, jams make you earl on your Sega
Sharp as a razor, but still dazed in confused
Blazin’ the blue, these are my brainwaves wavin’ to you
They say, “What up, shen? How you like this Freaky production?”
And the Grandma cameo is like an alien abduction
Slammin’ grammar on percussion is nothin’
Cheeky said we needed a hit, so I nailed it like hammers and construction
No frontin’. Cheeky the God, what’s good?

(Werd Life)
I'ma get it, I ain't playin', I'm just sayin' we should
Be on top of this game, crowd screamin' out name
F dot! Beats that knock, yo Freak, let's bop God.

(Freak Tha Monsta)
I'm ridin' on a classic presidential
Wavin' flavor to game
We go beyond while yall amazingly plane
A style you can sense from a mile off the bench
Somethin' funky for you suckas make you smile off the stench

Ayo we in there
Fuck anybody who swims near
It seems we got it sewn yo
That's word to my chin hair
Check the brimwear - fitted hat, kick, snare
Horn for the flare and I'm Sonny, so click "share"
There! Givin' you the rare and the raw
"Well done!" said the crowd as they stand and applaud
Fans of the Gods stampede and ram in the door
It's undstandable yall…

(Electric Grandma)
I’m electric! flowin' thru ya bodily connections
I'm just wreckin' and mic checkin' a second, i'm light-steppin'
Messin' with you like inception in night sessions
stretchin my wings in flight lessons...
Track Name: Mo Honeys Mo Problems (Ft. Werd Life)
Mo' honeys, mo' problems, mo' drama right?
I hit the kitten, now she wanna stick right by my side
I'm sorry baby, but I think it's time you take ya ride
I gotta go, I'm runnin' late to see my other slide

Ayo mama- I could be ya own doctor
Miggs the physician, I'm fixin' ya holes up so proper
Patch 'em and stitch em. Fill em out like backshot prescriptions
Leave it soakin' like Jersey after the tragic conditions
Honestly, I don't mean to be the type to blow my own horn so
Could you do it for me like a porno? And also-
You work ya torso like a pro
I just want you to know that as soon as we're finished
It's off you go.

(Werd Life)
Yo. Shake baby
Sh-sh-sh-shake mami. Said she love it when I ram it
Way I brake her body
She comfortable with me. Taught her how to roll the piffy
50 or better, she wetter. Make her so naughty
So nasty, love it when the kitty swole up
Real vulgar when I poke her
Make her super-soaker
Hold up! Mami, won't you get a fatty
Roll up. Don't F with hoodlums like him
That's what her daddy told her


(Werd Life)
We get it on, she know that my game is strong
Plus claim that I got her sprung, she don't mind I do her wrong, na
As long as she get to see me. So thirsty, she said she need me
I'm busy, she don't believe me
She caught me cheatin', but still she would never leave me
I guess she just loves to please me
Who said that pimpin' ain't easy
Big Daddy Kane. She gladly came over
Then she gladly came... over, and over, and over again
She must've loved it, 'cause she told her friends
I find it hard, decisions in which to call
Supply the court, I'll so gracefully bring the balls
Check up! Shorty, she knows what's next up
Before we get to scorin', she gotta work from her neck up
Let's cut. Easily busy bee get the nectar
Don't know her name, I saved it under "Might text her"

Now ya body's official
I'll rip ya clothes off like it's made of tissue
Hit you up the middle with the missle 'til you're sittin' crippled
Hypnotized. Lucky I missed ya eye with my big surprise
99 problems, one of 'em isn't size
I get inside and hide like I'm Saddam with bombs
I'm dead wrong, but you're blinded by charm, huh?
I rhyme on, but ya grabbin' my arm hard
Talkin' about a child that I'm not down to but 5 on
So bop on- 'cause a ring ain't my thing
But I need a queen to spend a night with the king and my ding-a-ling
I swing like Vince Vaughn, make hits like Tony Gwynn
I'm phonin' 'em in. Bone 'em, make 'em moan with a grin
Stoned again in the morning
Head, coffee, eggs, bacon, grapefruit and orange
Lookin' at the sky like it's about to be storming
So I'll be a gentlemen and drop you off at the corner, bitch

Track Name: Knowhateyemean?
This super crack attacks you, hits you, wrestles with your nose quick
Ear wax wick lit, tropical sick shit
Load a bowl of golden grams and hit it, it’s delicious
Fly with the fishes, swim with the birds
I’m in the kitchen like a witchdoctor sprinklin’ herbs
In the Dutch Master. Puff it, ready for lunch after
Must’ve snuck past you like a ninja, nun-chuck slap you
I’m not a rapper, I just speak dope
Chief dro like a fire-breathin’ dragon blowing green smoke
Fee-fi-fo-fum, beanstalk altitude
Attitude like “fuck it” smack 3 coins out you dudes
Bonus points for breaking bones at the joints
You know the boy is royal, hear the gold in my voice
No roids, just juice, a mic and a booth
Rhymin' like a dynamite, just light it then ‘poof’


Scribblin’ thoughts appear on the page vividly
Secretly conceived, don’t tell the Magical Ministry
The energy of creativity synergy is filling me
You’re little league, playin’ Hurcules, Smalls your killin’ me
Elemental trilogy. Dope Sand Clan
And the Orbital Ring Tribe travels no-man’s land
Before time, space, even the atom
I dabbled in the miraculous, manifested the planet
I battled the massive Kraken and wrangled him by his tentacles
Smacked him, sent him home and said, “Son, eat your vegetables!”
Pump up the decibels, dump guts in receptacles
I don’t give a fuck, son I’m speaking from the ventricles
Son Daddy- some call him a ruffian…
Especially the ladies when they say they want it rough again
Jugglin’ jugs, I’m a drawer-droppin’ gigolo
Jiggle my balls all over Beyonce
Don’t let Jigga know

Track Name: The Core
Patterns are fatter than matter beyond a solid platter
Gaseous, metallic, liquidly miracle magic
Sporadic panic transformed to proportional portions
Causin' commotion contorting without contorting to normal
Neither novel nor auto, this audio aura
Surrounds you and channels your core
While matching the crack with the raw
I peak through the crack of the door
That i smashed with an ax like Jack
'Cause the back of my brain is blacker than that
Of an attic with bats. In fact I can get darker than that
Show up in your thoughts as you're startin' to nap
Twist back ya fit' cap, mind in a spiral
Activate your pineal with neon lines in ya spinal
Rhyme's organic, evolved and sounds fun
And my whole planet revolves around the Son
A powerful tongue and loud lungs
As I round up dope beats, stunts and wild blunts

This is heart-core rap
No anatomical chart can me the part
Where the God thought that
I manifest art with a spark and a fusion
And when I'm on the mic, I got ya particles movin'

My mind is intertwined with vines
Exposed to roses that grow off of gold shrines
Stoned rhyme diamond in the rough
Too much to clutch if you're not metaphysically in touch enough
What the fuck?! Frequencies freakin' you
Shockin' ya chakras, rock grooves that'll jostle your posture
I'm pretty positive I'm popular
But then again, I possibly invented all my friends in my head
I'm probably dead. Or at least in another dimension
Not to mention the conversation with Satan
When I promised I'd save him
I was awakened from a revelationary daydream
Drownin' in a bottle of Jamaican and drivin' to Macon
Shaken and stirred, nerves tangle, words slur
Kern off-kilter, pixelated, inverted and blurred
Burn after reading....
This is a Top Secret, pot-reeking, hot, steaming crock of genius
I won't stop speakin' prophetic nonsense
For you to digest, so fuck it- try your best
I didn't plan it, but apparently I planted my planet
In granite, ran it through the horse hair and managed to brand it
If you can understand it, man I'd be shocked
When I handle the rock, I pop ya canopy top
I manifest art, spark hearts in dark marsh
Sharp bars so fierce they pierce through car parts
Ring the alarm, time to wake up
If you can relate - straight. If not, ya takin' space up
So just stay shut and let the bass bump
Feel it in ya center, let it echo 'til ya days up