Big Beast (feat. T.I. & Bun B) feat. T.I.,Bun B

歌詞

[Verse 1: Killer Mike] Hardcore G shit, homie, I don't play around Ain't shit sweet bout the peach -- this Atlanta, clown Home of the dealers and the strippers and the clubs, though Catch you coming out that Magic City with a snub, ho Lurking in the club on tourist motherfuckers Welcome to Atlanta -- up your jewelry, motherfucker! These monkey niggas looking for some Luda and Jermaine And all a nigga found was a Ruger and some pain Pow, motherfucker, pow! Come up off the chain Pow, motherfucker, pow! One off in the brain We some money-hungry wolves, and we down to eat the rich Your bodyguard ain't shit, we strip him like a stripper bitch These real-ass killers move in silence with violence The minute it set off, we the motherfucking wildest How you from Atlanta that they never speak upon Where everybody got a sack of dope and a gun [Hook: Trouble] And you know just how it go We ain't playing round with that bullshit Nigga, we ain't let that shit go When you come here, you better come correct This real G shit, you gotta show respect [Verse 2: Bun B] Once upon a time in the projects An O.G. saw a young Bun B as a prospect Thought that I would understand the streets from a very young age So he opened up the G code to the front page He sat me on the porch, said, "This where little dogs sit" Pointed at the yard, said, "That's where big dogs shit" He said, "Don't leave til your ass get growed And don't come back til your ass get throwed Whatever you want is whatever you can have Bring the pain and leave em wet, like they soaking in some salve When you step out on the ave, make sure they wanna see ya Cause being trill is an onomatopoeia Be about it like a G, a hater wanna catch you slipping Try to be a Jordan, but settle for a Pippen" Player, I ain't even tripping, but I don't really care Cause my pistol's in your face, so put your hands in the air [Hook] [Verse 3: T.I.] In a six, I'm riding with a pistol grip, banana clip From Simpson Road to Adamsville, I'm repping this Atlanta shit Nigga trying to handle up, let's see can they handle this A hundred round at em, that ain't no Louisiana shit Drinking on that Hennessey, blowing on that cannabis Amerikkka's nightmare, trap nigga fantasy A record full of felonies, searching for a better me But choppers go off in my hood like Iraq, Cuba, Tel Aviv Pretty nigga, let him be -- fuck him, shorty Sucker nigga I'll never be, don't give a fuck about it Quick to round up on that Audi, make em get the fuck up out it Nigga better be about it, he deserve it he allow it What's a coward to a kamikaze? He ain't robbed a man, ain't predator or prey; the law of nature where I stay I catch you slipping with that K, ain't no illusion, no confusion Better come up off that cake and all that jewelry or you're snoozing [Hook] [Verse 4: Killer Mike] Wha-da-da-dang, wha-da-da-da-da-dang Listen to my clip before that five go bang Bang bang, Grindtime, rap game We the readers of the books and the leaders of the crooks Predators, we eyeballing all of y'all lames Let me fall off, I'm taking all of y'all chains All of y'all watches and all of y'all cars Well, who you talking to? All of y'all stars All of y'all rappers and producers and such No homo promo, homie, you might get your ass touched Like Def Jam circa '83, you get rushed If you rolling with some winners, then you rolling with us I know some dumb country niggas, but them niggas ain't we Know they dressing looking hard, but them niggas ain't cheap I don't make dance music, this is R.A.P Opposite of the sucker shit they play on T.V [Hook]