k**er Mike - Big Beast (Instrumental) lyrics

Hardcore G sh**, homie, I don't play around Ain't sh** 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 motherf**ers Welcome to Atlanta, up your j**elry, motherf**er! These monkey n***as looking for some Luda and Jermaine And all a n***a found was a Ruger and some pain Pow, motherf**er, pow! Come up off the chain Pow, motherf**er, pow! One off in the brain We some money-hungry wolves, and we down to eat the rich Your bodyguard ain't sh**, we strip him like a stripper b**h These real-a** k**ers move in silence with violence The minute it set off, we the motherf**ing wildest How you from Atlanta that they never speak upon Where everybody got a sack of dope and a gun And you know just how it go We ain't playing round with that bullsh** n***a, we ain't let that sh** go When you come here, you better come correct This real G sh**, you gotta show respect 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 sh**" He said, "Don't leave til your a** get growed And don't come back til your a** 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 And you know just how it go We ain't playing round with that bullsh** n***a, we ain't let that sh** go When you come here, you better come correct This real G sh**, you gotta show respect In a six, I'm riding with a pistol grip, banana clip From Simpson Road to Adamsville, I'm repping this Atlanta sh** n***a trying to handle up, let's see can they handle this A hundred round at em, that ain't no Louisiana sh** Drinking on that Hennessey, blowing on that cannabis Amerikkka's nightmare, trap n***a fantasy A record full of felonies, searching for a better me But choppers go off in my hood like Iraq, Cuba, Tel Aviv Pretty n***a, let him be, f** him, shorty s**er n***a I'll never be, don't give a f** about it Quick to round up on that Audi, make em get the f** up out it n***a 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 j**elry or you're snoozing And you know just how it go We ain't playing round with that bullsh** n***a, we ain't let that sh** go When you come here, you better come correct This real G sh**, you gotta show respect Wha-da-da-dang, wha-da-da-da-da-dang Listen to my clip before that five go bang Bang bang, guap time, rep 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 h*mo promo, homie, you might get your a** touched Like Def Jam circa '83, you get rushed If you rolling with some winners, then you rolling with us I know some dope country n***as, but them n***as ain't weak Know they dressing looking hard, but them n***as ain't cheap I don't make dance music, this is R.A.P Opposite of the s**er sh** they play on T.V And you know just how it go We ain't playing round with that bullsh** n***a, we ain't let that sh** go When you come here, you better come correct This real G sh**, you gotta show respect