Big Beast Killer Mike (Ft. Bun B, T.I. & Trouble)

[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