Lyrics Big Beast (feat. Bun B, T.I., and Trouble) - T.I. , Bun B , Trouble , 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
they
ain't
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
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
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
'96
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
Shoot
a
nigga,
let
him
bleed
--
fuck
him,
shorty
Sucker
nigga
I'll
never
be,
don't
give
a
fuck
about
it
Quick
to
run
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
Wha-da-da-dang,
wha-da-da-da-da-dang
Listen
to
my
Kimber
.45
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
he
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
me
Know
they
dress
and
look
the
part,
but
them
niggas
ain't
G
I
don't
make
dance
music,
this
is
R.A.P
Opposite
of
the
sucker
shit
they
play
on
T.V
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