Lyrics Big K.R.I.T. – Grata Lata

I don’t have to blow the gate
I get greater, later
I’m all about my paper, so fuck you haters
I’m trill in my build, you could never, ever

They convinced that I ain’t got no fuckin’ chance to blow
Like my CD ain’t been bumpin’, pimpin’, since 2004
Watch me go and get it out the air, call me T-O
When it come to Superbowls, I Patriot on the Eagles
Watch me come and snatch a pass
Cause you buckle under pressure like your last name was McNabb
Leave you on a fuckin’ stretcher, ‘specially if you actin’ bad
Try not to play me like a pussy
Cause when I get motivated, I’m far from being gushy
You’re crooked, I’m a vet and I expect your respect
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on your set, what you waitin’ on
?
I proceed to bleed niggas for all that they got
Take it back 400 degrees, hey my block is still hot
What’s the G code?
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I came to break ’em
The Eagles my amigos, yea, I came to take ’em
And-1 like Paul Pierce, I came to shake ’em
I live to sign another day
I get greater later

I don’t have to blow the gate
I get greater, later
I’m all about my paper, so fuck you haters

My shine, my grind, no time to lose
I got 100 niggas with me and they ride in 2’s
If you wanna hate on the Krizzle, I’m slidin’ through
22, we got that window she’ll be slidin’ through
Don’t get it twisted girl, won’t hesitate to do you
I’m a king in my town, motherfuck I choose to
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Be a boss
In my city not acknowledging losers
Got a clique of gorilla niggas, leave you floatin’ up sewers
If you lame, young man, don’t come to my set
Out here, it’s clear, I done gained respect
Out here, can’t nothing jeopardize my rep
I’m 10 million nigga, homie go on and cut that check
Record execs, lookin’ for that pop-tart image
But that Bow-Wow Chingy shit just ain’t in me
I’m a new brand of hustler, track star in me
On the block runnin’ streets, I’mma get that Emmy
And you, you you niggas better grab them Oscars
Cause actin’ what you good at, thug impostors
Ad-Libbin’ all your life cuh, but my shit’s real
Say you go harder than me? Bitch you’re not quite there
I’mma show you the real on real and it’s real
That niggas ain’t playin’ no more with that steel
The best advice for hothead niggas is just chill
But that shit you sprayin’ over a track gettin’ you killed

I don’t have to blow the gate
I get greater, later
I’m all about my paper, so fuck you haters
I’m trill in my build, you could never, ever
Ever, ever, ever, get on my level