"Big Bank" lyrics - BIG K.R.I.T.

BIG K.R.I.T.

"Big Bank"

feat. T.I.

[Chorus: Big K.R.I.T.]
I got big bank flexing on a mothafucka
Ain't shit changed 'cause I'm still getting, still mine
Ain't no love for a hater try'na block me, tryna play me
Mothafuckas never stop my, stop shine
Yeah they see me but they still watching
I got shinin' on re-run (On re-run) I got shinin' on re-run
Yeah they see me but they still watching
I got shinin' on re-run (On re-run) I got shinin' on re-run

[Verse 1: Big K.R.I.T.]
I was one deep, creepin'
Caddy on high, my paint never dry
Forgiato, the women, and tires squeaking
Where niggas will never get by
Flipping the script on the hoes
Shine up the grill in these glows
Paper dip but never show
'Til the fucking lot was super throwed
Players out'chea on game
Pimpin' so cold on the hoes on the two below
That we can put out the flame
Of the blue hand of the roof of the coupe
All I got is bands man, who got the change?
Who got the number to the nearest burger diner?
The club can chirp 'fore the clip hit the pole
And do a split, 'cause we bought wings
We ain't talking about flights
Talking lemon pepper vodka with the ice
Spent more on Js than the steak and the shrimp
Than mo' gon' make in they in life
Ain't tripped up, never hiccup from the drank
Pick up where I left off on the dank
Flexed out, never stressed out over chains
Stretched out, get pressed out on the grain
Woof! You hear that there
I make it where these mothafuckas feel that there
When the rims too big and the road ain't shit
It make it hard to steer that there
But it's big bank, big bank, big bank, big bank, one time
I wake up, cake up, cake up, then press, rewind

[Verse 2: T.I.]
Big bank, currency, and revenue
Getting to it, all a nigga ever do
And all I care about is how to get it, no doubt
Big numbers in front of my decimal, check it
Make sure it's multiplying
Is all I'm ever I worried about
And slow money beat no money
What the fuck you in a hurry 'bout?
Nigga, I'm saying, mm
Stay getting to it that broke shit ain't in my plan, yeah
Sleep when I'm dead, I'ma grind every day that I can
Got seven kids, and I gotta make sure
All of 'em them fed, by any means
Can't be no excuses, my children can't eat no excuses
My daughter can't sleep in excuses
My son he see me with no paper like keep your excuses
If you ain't producing, you're useless
That's why I'm out here getting to it
Fresh out the booth, I go straight to the stage
Then I go straight to get paid
Hunnid' I earned, fifty I saved
My bitch don't be cleaning up, I need a maid
She don't be cooking so I need a chef
Ain't giving me nothin', I get it myself
I'm doing my thing and I did it to death
Stacking them chips, getting that dough
Millions, need me a couple hundo
Big mansion with a double front do'
Pretty young thang in a new condo
Pray to God I could stay rich and stay humble

[Outro: Mannie Fresh]
Earthlings and aliens, gather around, come close
While I tell you the story of fine ass Denise
And the 4 15s in a Caprice
Hitting hard like a disrespectful step-daddy
The thunder god coming up the block
Going subbing is a way of life
Hugged up with yo' baby mama or your wife
Ride on, sub on