Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Problems, artist - Jake LamboDate of issue: 27.05.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Problems |
| Don’t talk about it, be about it |
| Really though, don’t even be about it, we about it |
| Y’all don’t want that problem, nah |
| Trust me y’all don’t want that problem, nah |
| They don’t hear me though |
| In the booth see I be fooling, y’all just fooling around |
| I’m tutoring now, you clueless but I’m schooling you clowns |
| I’m cooling it now, don’t do it or them dudes getting wild |
| I told my mom look at her son like really you should be proud |
| I’m building a foundation and really my mind’s racing |
| A million times faster than average and I’m waiting |
| I feel as they all hating, I feel as they all waiting |
| Like look at this nigga Jake, wait this beyond greatness |
| Dope spitter, cold nigga, go figure, work until we all richer |
| I tried to show em, the bitches still ain’t get the picture |
| Now it’s time to give em the business, bitch it’s been official |
| And my niggas be sending missiles, gon be hard to miss you |
| Mama missing a seat, I don’t see any box of tissues |
| And any problem, we can solve em, y’all don’t want those issues |
| Still I kill em all, RIP to any opposition |
| Jake |
| cool though, got a couple bitches in the pool though |
| Just took a hit of Don Julio, nobody act a fool though |
| Cause man we got them things that’ll remove your |
| Soul from your body, put your spirit up on Pluto |
| But I’m chilling, just bought a billion |
| Main thing bout going panoramic on the panamera ceiling |
| Just toasted with my accountant but we spilling, no we didn’t |
| Just make a whole mother fucking nother million |
| Hood niggas living in the burbs but don’t get it confused I pull up in that |
| suburban |
| Roll that black window down and throw em all at your curb |
| Hit whoever had the nerve to pillow talk with a bird, bird |
| Hate on me but never ever plot to take from me |
| Faithfully, I’ll turn your neighborhood to a bakery |
| Forever Imma be able to walk these streets |
| Rich nigga, lil homie talk is cheap |
| Tell them free |
| AK come from Compton |
| Look pon a real real don don |
| Poy-poy-poy no drum drum |
| Kick him, like Clyde |
| , him a real bad man |
| Tax them like Uncle Sam-Sam |
| Leave them bloody like tampon |
| Catch a nigga on the wrong side |
| Bombs out, took him out, now he offline |
| Catch a nigga even when he on part time |
| That’s just how it goes when it’s war time |
| Murda, chalk line, hollow point shot |
| It a come out the carbine |
| Bullet, I kick him like movie, I star time |
| RIP to my dog |
| Gangster now |