Lyrics Big K.R.I.T. – Jackin 4 Beats

Hey what’s the motherfuckin’ deal baby?
K-R-I-T in the motherfuckin’ booth
Hitlab studios, Multi Records, 3-0 B, Queen City
I’m jackin’ 4 beats nigga

The killa K gonna blow off anything you drivin’
Five in the mornin’
?
knockin’
Hey, I’m the hottest, it’s my CD they coppin’
Hey, I destroy you anywhere, anybody

Hey, you niggas talk a lot — I see it in your nature
You ain’t feelin’ me? Ya’ll motherfuckers haters
But, I expose the fake asap, the K clap
Pull up in a Maybach and leave a hater face flat
With no remorse for him, better call his peoples
He couldn’t feel it in the air, he was Beanie Seagel
I showed up breakin’ bread, takin’ name, and givin’ orders
Yea, I’m something like Troy, universal soldier
I made it in the street but, they heard it miles away
How he known in Atlanta? He live miles away
I’m that ‘sippi shawty, no more cotton pickin’
Unless you talkin’ white-tees and throwbacks I’m kickin’
We pop the tags and buying bars while our bumpers drag
They gettin’ mad and jockin’ hard cause those niggas fag
I’m ’bout my paper, you can keep the fuckin’ fame dear
I’m touchin’ down, I’m about to change the game here

The killa K gonna blow off anything you drivin’
Five in the mornin’
?
knockin’

That boy got flow, that boy gone grind
That boy gone blow, that boy gone shine
That boy got hustle, that boy got fire
That boy done struggle, that boy gone ride

Okay, when you see me, don’t speak unless it’s ’bout some cheddar
I ain’t in the closet, but I got Barrettas
I know gorilla niggas, call ’em jungle fellas
They ridin’ on propellers and open up like
?
On them niggas that claim they gutter and own the spots
I’m Mr. Clean, I street sweep niggas off the block
I don’t fare well with niggas talkin’ down G
The K’s a Buddhist in this game, I don’t eat beef
I just kill bars and flood hoods with sick beats
And make niggas quit rappin’ and get J-O-Bs
Because I’m hot with it and they not with it
I could sign after I die — blow and sell millions
I touch the hood with the swagger, sayin’ flow’s a miracle
They way I spit up on the track, some would say is spiritual
I got the Glock Four, I sell it all for profit
I got the South with me shawty, can’t nobody stop it

The killa K gonna blow off anything you drivin’
Five in the mornin’
?
knockin’
Hey, I’m the hottest, it’s my CD they coppin’
Hey, I destroy you anywhere, anybody

That boy got flow, that boy gone grind
That boy gone blow, that boy gone shine
That boy got hustle, that boy got fire
That boy done struggle, that boy gone ride