Problem - Like Whaaat (ft. Chris Brown, Wiz Khalifa, Tyga & Master P) | Текст песни

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• Problem
• Like Whaaat (ft. Chris Brown, Wiz Khalifa, Tyga & Master P)

[Verse 1: Problem]
Who that, talking '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 trying
See 'em and be like “Huh, nigga, what?”
“Huh? Give a fuck like what?”
Hell yeah, this the remix, these bitches coming harder than cement
The kind that put the blow to they nose, no Kleenex
Shining like the sun, no Phoenix
Diamond Lane gang wear it big, no 3X free Miller
You gangbanging foolie chucker
More niggas still good on the block, Timmy Duncan
Knocking niggas out they style like a fucking 50 dumping
Labels can’t advance me, that Cali nigga that got Diddy dancing

[Chorus: Problem]
Yeah I'm just doing my thang, fingers in the sky, banging my gang like
Uh, go on fall back, cause you don't want no problems like that
Cause we gonna 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

[Verse 2: Wiz Khalifa]
What’s smacking 30, under 30, I'm a young rich black man
What’s happening? No it ain't Taylor, less my hands is in
Grands I'mma spend, grams put them in, seen that Bombay, ran from the gin
Staying low key, still they know me, smoking OG, and I blow it by the O-Z
We faded ho please
I'm getting 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 you 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 nothing a game
Stacking that paper, don’t get in their way or Rat-tat-tat

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Chris Brown]
Look, okay it’s OHB so nigga, bag bag, I got an ounce of that bounce in a Glad bag
Molly fucking up my liver, got a bad back and if you tryina fuck with her, I'mma tax that
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
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 dodging the misdemeanours hoping I don’t get subpoenas but I

[Chorus]

[Verse 4: Tyga]
Huh, banging 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 balling then why they clothes free?
These motherfuckers cheap like a nose bleed seat, you ain't gotta go to Miami bitch to feel the heat (WOO!)
LA, burner to your belly, my niggas OGs, keep the burner in the telly
Getting 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, Raheim, I'm a motherfucking, money machine nigga

[Chorus]

[Master P]
How ya do that there

[Verse 5: Master P]
Probably getting paper, but don’t fuck with you broke hoes, niggas, or you haters
Man D. Howard with the motherfucking 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 popping bottles, chasing bad bitches and them niggas throwing dollars
Louis V down from my head to my toes, C-Murder in the pen, and that iron getting 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
Pushing 160 when I'm riding in the ghost, you ain't from round here, nigga better walk slow, or get smoked

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