Lost Boyz - 1, 2, 3 Lyrics
1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems(problems, whos got problemsShes got problems, got problemsThree thousand problems, got problems)Its a cool summer nightMy .44s on my waist gotta half a stick of dynamiteGot some beef wit some niggaz across townKeep my man to the groundI gotta shut it down, they pull up on my blockIm in my little brown hooptieSo they guess I want the white rockThey walk close towards my rideSurprise mother*****er its a handful of1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problem(I got.. problems, three thousand problems)I put two to his headI jumped on the southern state then Im rushin out to hempsteadOne down and one to goI heard the next niggas on and hes gotten a ball of doughI kick in the niggas doorI sat the nigga in the door wit my nickel plated fo-foAnd word up that shit is softThe way this nigga hit the floor when the freaky got rawSome ***** tried to burst but I shot her in the backBack! aiyyo money where your stash at?He took me back inside to this roomBeside the safe full a gs he had mad bags of weeds1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems(problems, I i got problems)A lot to doI call up the underground let me speak to that nigga luHe said, taliq, whats up my man?I got this nigga locked down wit my joint to his gunAnd word up he got an mail pressAiyyo money whats this address?1245 boulevard queens, and and tell my man they try to caravanUnderstand Im on a missionAnd just be nice to pack some extra ammunitionAnd get some phillies from the storeAnd park the van on the corner and youre comin through the side door1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems(I got problems, we got problems)They get robbed they wanna goAand we dont want trouble, I told lou to move the chairsAiyyo cheeks, help me take this damn ***** down the stairsI come back up for the sessionMoney still tied the ***** up confessinI blow some smoke into his eyes, here niggaTake two more puff before you dieYo, I stood up, about-faced himAnd yo lost boyz waste himAnd yo queens waste him, and yo southside waste him1..2..3.. thousand problems(who got problemsPretty lou and the whole mother*****in worldI got problems)Its 3 oclock in the mornShit is on mother*****ers shit is onYeah yeah, I gotta get this nigga shawnIm drivin in a stolen car wit no mother*****in plates onI heard shawn got crazy endsBut before I do this thing I go and pick up my best friendsA forty ounce and lead feels rightI got to see the boy hillsideUnderstand now hes in courtI roll all my windows down pull my shit on the cornerBut I still bein sneaky(whats your name? ) cause Im freaky taliq, Im freaky taliqBut right now I got beef wit this nigga named shawnShit is on word is bond money is goneHes wit his ***** in bed (ah ah)I pull out my .44, and I dont wanna do his headCause this shit is too easy (even though)Even though he can go in one squeeze g, its its its crazyMr.bs l-bs, a people.. 1.. 2.. 3.. 3.. thousand problems1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems
