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Khujo

Khujo (born Willie Knighton, Jr.; March 13, 1972 in Atlanta, Georgia) is an American hip hop musician. He has a wife (Tiffany J. Knighton) and four boys (Siah, Simeon, Dainel, Gad). He is one-fourth of Goodie Mob (along with T-Mo, Cee-Lo, and Big Gipp), and one-half of The Lumberjacks (with T-Mo). He is also the only featured guest to appear on every single Outkast album, including Big Boi's solo album. Khujo has released a new book titled "Straight out the A" that focuses on his life and the development of the Dirty South movement from OutKast to Goodie Mob. Khujo is a very spiritual man known for his distinct, grunty voice and free-flowing rhyming style. He rhymes about all aspects of street life, often intertwining those subject with God metaphorically or … more »

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I don't know what y'all talk about, like y'all gon' be the man
Stupid bitch, you can stay in the city, you ain't part of the plan
One of me, four drums in this bitch, like I can start a band
Get the low, pop out with them sticks, and smoke like Jamaicans

I don't rock wit ya lil' bitch, I ain't never touch guitar
Turned they back when I was on, that's the realest shit I saw but it's g
I'm back in that T, talking to a fiend
Bust a P, right down to the G, boy that shit hit reek

Call a bitch straight to the crib, she tryna lick up onna tip
If that bitch start playing games, first thing you do, call a Lyft
Look like madden make them plays, but we really shoot them bricks
Coach K, we in the fifth who you think sending all the hits

Who you think gon' get them lit? Monkey nuts all on the stick
Say the name and we get busy, never slide up out no bitch
If it's smoke then we get fizzy, 9 to 9 we blitz the shit
Big ass gun with brand new key, they gon' think we be for real

I don't know what y'all talk about, like y'all gon' be the man
Stupid bitch, you can stay in the city, you ain't part the plan
One of me, four drums in this bitch, like I can start a band
Get the low, pop out with them sticks, and smoke like Jamaicans

I don't ride with two lil' bitch, I ain't never touch guitar
Back when I was flown, that's the realest shit I saw
Better G, I'm back in that T, talking to a fiend
Bust a P, right down to the G, boy that shit hit reet

We get that bread and try to hide it, get that money and don't divide it
Drop me off at the jeweler, spend a hundred on the rising
Can't even ask for shit, most of y'all just be fucking flies
Can't even love no bitch, most of these hoes out to be fucking wild

Don't give lil' bro no stick, all he gon' do is go catch him or bite him
I put pills in the mix, now I got y'all tryna come and find me
Dollar money, man, go get some other pockets, deeper than this shit
I ain't really got to speak on no more bodies

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