| 1. 2. 3. thousand problems
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| 1. 2. 3. thousand problems
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| (problems, who’s got problems
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| she’s got problems, got problems
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| three thousand problems, got problems)
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| It’s a cool summer night
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| My .44's on my waist gotta half a stick of dynamite
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| Got some beef wit some niggaz across town
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| Keep my man to the ground
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| I gotta shut it down, they pull up on my block
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| I’m in my little brown hooptie
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| So they guess I want the white rock
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| They walk close towards my ride
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| Surprise motherfucker it’s a handful of 1. 2. 3. thousand problem
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| (I got. problems, three thousand problems)
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| I put two to his head
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| I jumped on the southern state then I’m rushin out to Hempstead
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| One down and one to go
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| I heard the next nigga’s on and he’s gotten a ball of dough
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| I kick in the nigga’s door
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| I sat the nigga in the door wit my nickel played fo'-fo'
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| And word up that shit is soft
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| The way this nigga hit the floor when the Freaky got raw
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| Some bitch tried to burst but I shot her in the back
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| Back! |
| Aiyyo Money where your stash at?
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| He took me back inside to this room
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| Beside the safe full a G’s he had mad bags of weeds
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| 1. 2. 3. thousand problems
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| (Problems, I I got problems)
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| A lot to do
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| I call up the underground let me speak to that nigga Lu He said, Taliq, whats up my man?
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| I got this nigga locked down wit my joint to his gun
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| And word up he got an mail press
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| Aiyyo Money what’s this address?
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| 1245 Boulevard Queens, and and tell my man they try to caravan
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| Understand I’m on a mission
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| And just be nice to pack some extra ammunition
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| and get some Phillies from the store
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| And park the van on the corner and you’re comin through the side door
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| 1. 2. 3. thousand problems
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| (I got problems, we got problems)
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| They get robbed they wanna go Aand we don’t want trouble, I told Lou to move the chairs
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| Aiyyo Cheeks, help me take this damn bitch down the stairs
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| I come back up for the session
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| Money still tied the fuck up confessin
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| I blow some smoke into his eyes, here nigga
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| take two more puff before you die
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| Yo, I stood up, about-faced him
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| And yo Lost Boyz waste him
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| and yo Queens waste him, and yo Southside waste him
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| 1.2.3. |
| thousand problems
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| (Who got problems
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| Pretty Lou and the whole motherfuckin world
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| I got problems)
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| It’s 3 o’clock in the morn
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| Shit is on motherfuckers shit is on Yeah yeah, I gotta get this nigga Shawn
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| I’m drivin in a stolen car wit no motherfuckin plates on I heard Shawn got crazy ends
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| But before I do this thing I go and pick up my best friends
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| A forty ounce and lead feels right
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| I got to see the boy hillside
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| Understand now he’s in court
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| I roll all my windows down pull my shit on the corner
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| but I still bein sneaky
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| (What's your name?) Cause I’m freaky Taliq, I’m freaky Taliq
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| But right now I got beef wit this nigga named Shawn
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| Shit is on word is bond money is gone
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| He’s wit his bitch in bed (ah ah)
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| I pull out my .44, and I don’t wanna do his head
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| Cause this shit is too easy (even though)
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| Even though he can go in one squeeze G, it’s it’s it’s crazy
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| Mr.B's L-B's, a people. |
| 1. 2. 3. 3. thousand problems
|
| 1. 2. 3. thousand problems |