LyricsLike Whaaat - Remix

Problem, Wiz Khalifa, Tyga, Chris Brown, Master P

Last update on: January 28, 2020
No translations availableNo translations available

No Limit forever Diamond Lane, Master P in this motherfucker (League of Starz) Problem, it's 'bout to be a motherfuckin' problem (Sorry Jaynari)

From my hood to your hood My lil niggas 'bout to wild out How you do that there? Nigga, we don't care Who that, talkin' 'bout, who that? Run up on me, you'll get your ass beat blue black Go on get nerve, I'm off the curb Push mountains of herb, you niggas already heard The bro Berg keep a pistol gripped, pump on his lap at all times Wherever, however, cause young niggas they tryin' See 'em and be like, "Huh, nigga, what?" "Huh? Give a fuck like what?" Uh, hell yeah, this the remix, these bitches comin' harder than cement The kind that put the blow to they nose, no Kleenex Shinin' like the sun, no Phoenix Diamond Lane gang, wear it big, no 3X free Miller You gangbangin' foolie chucker More niggas still good on the block, Timmy Duncan Knockin' niggas out they style like a fuckin' 50 dumpin' Labels can't advance me, that Cali nigga that got Diddy dancin' (Ha) Yeah, I'm just doin' my thang Fingers in the sky, bangin' my gang like Oh, go on, fall back, 'cause you don't want no problems like that 'Cause we gon' be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like (Hahaha, uh) What's smackin'? 30, under 30, I'm a young rich black man Ooh, what's happenin'? No, it ain't Taylor, less my hands is in Grands I'ma spend, grams put them in Seen that Bombay, ran from the gin Stayin' low key, still they know me Smokin' OG, and I blow it by the O-Z We faded, hoe, please I'm gettin' stupid high, me and P-R-O-B My J's super old, Rick Owens, no sleeves We at the after-party, you can bring your own weed And we gon' take shots until someone has to drive us home Come from a place where they do tote that chrome Smile on they face, but ain't nothin' a game Stackin' that paper, don't get in their way or rat-tat-tat Yeah, I'm just doin' my thang Fingers in the sky, bangin' my gang like (Hahaha) Oh, go on, fall back, 'cause you don't want no problems like that 'Cause we gon' be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like (Look) Okay, it's OHB so nigga, bag bag I got an ounce of that bounce in a Glad bag Molly fuckin' up my liver, got a bad back And if you tryna fuck with her, I'mma tax that A-a-ass all on the floor, I'm tryna pour it up, bitch Lean on my dick, so slow it up, bitch And the police tryna pull up on the scene Then they ask you what you seen? I ain't seen shit A hundred niggas right behind me that's the drum line All you hear is, "Blat, blat," hit it one time Fuck a punch line, nigga, had bread since the lunch line I can put them soldiers on the front line O-open season, just nigga give me the reason to bust And just let it squeeze and my rope-a-dope is the meanest I box you up in the freezer, comatose, paraplegic I'm dodgin' the misdemeanors hopin' I don't get subpoenas but I Yeah, I'm just doin' my thang, Fingers in the sky, bangin' my gang like Oh, go on fall back, 'cause you don't want no problems like that 'Cause we gon' be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like, "Huh, nigga, what? Huh, give a fuck, nigga, what?" A nigga be like Huh, bangin' out the truck I'm T-Raww, bitch, gon' let a nigga fuck Huh, bitch, you heard what I said Your bitch is a bird, but I don't give her bread What? Problem pass the weed These niggas claim they ballin', then why they clothes free? These motherfuckers cheap like a nosebleed seat You ain't gotta go to Miami, bitch, to feel the heat (Woo) L.A., burner to your belly My niggas OGs, keep the burner in the telly Gettin' head 'til it ache, that's a motherfucking headache Do this shit tonight, send it straight to felly felly Nigga, why? I'm selling dreams, the money team Niggas spend crack but they ain't got no fiends Got the juice and the cream, Wu-Tang, Rakim I'm a motherfuckin', money machine, nigga Yeah, I'm just doin' my thang, Fingers in the sky, bangin' my gang like (Ha) Oh, go on fall back How ya do that there? (What) Me and Problem gettin' paid But don't fuck with you broke hoes, niggas, or you haters Man D. Howard with the motherfuckin' Lakers I represent the street, No Limit is the label Throw your hoods up, motherfucker, where you from? We in this bitch deep and it can get dumb Niggas in the back, motherfucker, poppin' bottles Chasin' bad bitches and them niggas throwin' dollars Louis V down from my head to my toes C-Murder in the pen, and that iron gettin' swole Never gave a fuck 'bout no niggas wanna hate Keep the chopper in the car, 'case a nigga wanna play She showed me the titties, I call them bitches Dhali I know she a freak, 'cause she gone off molly Pushin' 160 when I'm ridin' in the Ghost You ain't from 'round here, nigga, better walk slow, or get smoked

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