Problems

Yea
Y'all don't want no motherfucking problems man

You don't want no problems
You don't want no problems
They don't want no problems
He don't want no problems

We jump in a pit
We get the shit lit
They packing the sticks
We making some licks
I'm running a blitz
I'm piping yo chick
They moving them loads
They moving some bricks

Rack it up
Wrap it up

Rack it up, bag it up
Tell the homie stack it up, wrap it up
None of yo people want smoke
Homie stack it up, wrap it up
Grr
Pack it up, load it up

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Aim it at the boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Killing on them boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Aim it at the boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Killing on them boys right there

We shoot at yo peoples
Give a fuck if you calling the cops
My finger on the trigger
We come in this bitch and we hot

We shoot at you peoples
Give a fuck if you calling the cops
I'm not from New Orleans
But my boys will come down and get hot

Thinking you hot
They come in yo spot
I'm whipping the pot
You bitch is a thot
She popping a rock
Put a stick in her box
Foreign parked in the lot
Y'all capping a lot

Shoot them boys right there
Shoot them boys right there

Look at my wrist
Look at my bitch
I came from the bottom
You know what it is
I came from the jungle the people
They doubted but I'm in this bitch
I came from the bottom we made
Us some plays and ran us up a blitz

I jump in a Urus, I swear I'm the coolest, always got the newest,
Y'all dude smell like urine, my shawty exclusive,
My diamonds the coolest,
We body for body I swear I got 5 like I'm luniz

Yea
Took the braud shopping after sex
Uh
Swiping up cards there's no limit

Like
Freak wanna suck my
First to line up
Benihana's
Hotter than sauna
Sucking up on her
Always want Prada
Fucking up commas
She killing the summer

Got me some bling
Know what mean
Count me some racks
Money machine
Johnny my teeth
Sipping that lean
You know what I mean bitch

Fucking the summer bitch
Drinking the finest bitch
He ratted his homie snitch
Telling on dudes cuz his girl sucked a dick

Rack it up, bag it up
Tell the homie stack it up, wrap it up
None of yo people want smoke
Homie stack it up, wrap it up
Grrrr
Pack it up, load it up

You don't want no problems
You don't want no problems
They don't want no problems
He don't want no problems

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Aim it at the boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Killing on them boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Aim it at the boys right there

Shoot them right there
Shoot them right there
Killing on them boys right there
Grr

You see our money man,
We got money man
You don't want smoke, no problems
You don't want no fucking problems
Yea
Yea
Yea
Yea
Ahh



Credits
Writer(s): Jim Castillo
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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