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Big Beast Lyrics by Killer Mike

R.A.P. Music

2012

[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 that nigga found was a Ruger and some pain
Pow, motherfucker, pow! Come up off the chain (ay, ay)
Pow, motherfucker, pow! One off in the brain (ay, ay)
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 a pun
Where everybody got a sack of dope and a gun

[Chorus: 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 (yard), said, "That's where big dogs shit" (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 (ave)
Make sure they wanna see ya (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 (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

[Chorus: 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 3: T.I.]
'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
Sucka 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 snoozing

[Chorus: 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 4: Killer Mike]
Wha-da-dang, wha-da-da-da-da-dang
Listen to my Kimber .45 go bang
Bang bang, Grindtime, rap gang
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.!

[Chorus: 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

About “Big Beast” by Killer Mike

Read the complete lyrics to "Big Beast" by Killer Mike from the album "R.A.P. Music" in 2012. On Lyrks you can follow along with the full text, explore the artist's discography, and discover related songs. The track is often categorized under Rap.

"Big Beast" is performed by Killer Mike. from the album "R.A.P. Music" in 2012 This page provides the full lyric text for fans who want to sing along, study the songwriting, or compare versions across releases. Lyrks organizes lyrics by artist and song slug so you can bookmark and share a stable URL. Music lyrics help listeners connect with emotion, narrative, and rhythm in a track. Whether you are learning English, researching a favorite chorus, or preparing for karaoke, having accurate line breaks and section labels (verse, chorus, bridge) makes the experience easier. We link to the official artist profile on Lyrks where available, including biography snippets, top songs, and chart placements when we have that data. If you enjoy "Big Beast", explore more songs by Killer Mike using the links below. Chart and trending pages on Lyrks highlight what listeners are searching for this week. For copyright or correction requests, see our DMCA and contact pages.

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Frequently asked questions

"Big Beast" is credited to Killer Mike. Songwriting credits may include additional writers listed on the release; check the credits section on this page for linked collaborators.

"Big Beast" appears on "R.A.P. Music" in 2012.

Visit the Killer Mike artist page at /artist/killer-mike for biography, popular tracks, and links to more lyric pages.


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