Problem - Like Whaaat Lyrics
[Verse 1: Problem]Who dat, talking bout, who datRun up on me, you get your ass beat blue blackGo on get nerve, I'm off the curbPush mountains of herb, you niggas already heardThe bro Berg, keep a pistol gripped pump on his lap at all timeWhatever however, cause young niggas stay tryingSee them and be like huh, nigga, what?Huh, give a ***** like whaatBlow my weed, smash the dashHop up in my lane, shit be looking way differentThrough these thousand dollars framesMillionaire mind, ***** the thousand dollars brainThousand dollar lame only get loud around his gang ass nigga, ass niggaCompton for real, you ain't gotta ask niggaFloating through the city like I'm on a raft niggaMike Vick with the shit, I don't need a pass niggaLike what that shit do, yeah[Hook: Problem]I'm just doing my thang, fingers in the skyBanging my gang like uhGo on fall back, cause you don't want no problems like thatCause we gonna be like huh, nigga what,Huh, give a *****, nigga whaatHuh, nigga what,Huh, give a *****, nigga whaat[Verse 2: Problem]Your money funny you a clownYour ***** hit me up then I'm probably going downIt depends on how much of that shit I just hadPill cool but I prefer my MDMA by the bagHeavy hitter right here, all you other nigga's jabsBig talking bout beef till you serve they ass a slabDo the math hoes clash, cause I got them yellingWoo, like FlairWhen I'm done they always askHow you do dat there?Word to Master P and Young BleedI pull your ***** she trying kick it fast as Chun LiCause I'm a pimp see, word to Bun BUnderground king, no checker, shout out to the ***** pressingGet a weight lift, reppin' Cal like Ripken I'm on fire right nowP burnin', no Syphilis,Strap it up, you murder the *****Real beef you don't talk, you just murder a *****See me?[Hook]I'm just doing my thang, fingers in the skyBanging my game like uhGo on fall back, cause you don't want no problems like thatCause we gonna be like huh, nigga what,Huh, give a *****, nigga whaatA nigga be like huh, nigga what,Huh, give a *****, nigga whaatA nigga be like,[Verse 3: Bad Lucc]Who datI bet your lady knew thatShe said he got a ticket on the molly, mommy do thatTalking with my round diamond lane, I thought you knew thatPound half-Raider, hunned sixes is where we grew thatSee me on the 10 with my squad we so trillOr uptown with them foolies niggas, trapping by the millI do it for my bros of the LockeThem hoes on stopI used to wear Pirellis back when Nelly was on topNow it's 442 my pack a bang rewinding,My ***** is red as a Honda throw back on them YokohamasI'ma slam the scraper,You touch the paper it's go, me I'm just granted for showThese hoes thanking it's snowI get it going my nig, I blow the horn and she readyDisrespectful? Nigga please, I’m the one with the fettiI'm going out with a bang, it's Lane on the chainI just show ‘em with diamonds nigga, cause Lane is the gang!
