Problem - Get On It lyrics

[Verse 1: Problem] Who dat, talking bout, who dat Run up on me, you get your a** beat blue black Go on get nerve, I'm off the curb Push mountains of herb, you n***as already heard The bro Berg, keep a pistol gripped pump on his lap at all time Whatever however, cause young n***as stay trying See them and be like huh, n***a, what? Huh, give a f** like whaat Blow my weed, smash the gas Hop up in my lane, sh** be looking way different Through these thousand dollars frames Millionaire mind, f** a thousand-dollar brain Thousand dollar lame only get loud around his gang a** n***a, a** n***a Compton for real, you ain't gotta ask n***a Floating through the city like I'm on a raft n***a Mike Vick with the sh**, I don't need to pa** n***a Like what that sh** do, yeah [Hook: Problem] 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, n***a what Huh, give a f**, n***a whaat Huh, n***a what Huh, give a f**, n***a whaat [Verse 2: Problem] Your money funny you a clown Your b**h hit me up then I'm probably going down It depends on how much of that sh** I just had Pill cool but I prefer my MDMA by the bag Heavy hitter right here, all you other n***as jabs Big talking bout beef till you serve they a** a slab Do the math hoes clash, cause I got them yelling Woo, like Flair When I'm done they always ask How you do dat there? Word to Master P and Young Bleed I pull your b**h she trying kick it fast as Chun Li Cause I'm a pimp see, word to Bun B Underground king, no checker, shout out to the b**h pressing Get a weight lift, reppin' Cal like Ripken I'm on fire right now P burnin', no Syphilis Strap it up, you murder the p**y Real beef you don't talk, you just murder a p**y See me? [Hook: Problem] 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, n***a what Huh, give a f**, n***a whaat A n***a be like huh, n***a what Huh, give a f**, n***a whaat A n***a be like [Verse 3: Bad Lucc] Who dat I bet your lady knew that She said he got a ticket on the molly, mommy do that Talking with my round diamond lane, I thought you knew that Pound half-Raider, hunned sixes is where we grew that See me on the 10 with my squad we so trill Or uptown with them foolies n***as, trapping by the mill I do it for my bros of the Locke Them hoes on stop I used to wear Pirellis back when Nelly was on top Now it's 442 my pack a bang rewinding My b**h is red as a Honda throw back on them Yokohamas I'ma slam the scraper You touch the paper it's go, me I'm just granted for show These hoes thanking it's snow I get it going my nig, I blow the horn and she ready Disrespectful? n***a please, I'm the one with the fetti I'm going out with a bang, it's Lane on the chain I just throw up a diamond, n***a, cause Lane is the gang!