Think We Got A Problem

Lyrics

[Chorus: x2]
 I think we got a problem, got a got a problem
 I think we got a problem, got a got a problem
 I think we got a problem, got a got a problem
 Think we got a problem, think we got a problem
 [Sheek Louch:]
 Think we got a problem, mask on, show you how to rob em
 Revolver, show you how to solve'm
 Drivin down Harlem, the Aston a problem
 No tint fishball it ain't hard to spot him
 Think we got a problem, weed got too much
 Only thing damn I'm down to my last dutch
 Think we got a problem, but really it ain't dough
 There's one of me, and these bitches I count about three four
 Think we got a problem, the homey just all talk
 He ain't gon pop a balloon with a pitch fork
 Think we got a problem in the club with this dogg
 Rude boy, starks, ladies, everybody
 [Chorus]
 [The Game:]
 Think we got a problem, Game in Manhattan
 Black on black Aston the 21 strapped in
 Dominican chick ridin shotty all strapped in
 Customize the dash on my shotgun strapped in
 Cops on the shoulder gotta pull a Hova
 Time to fade to black cause I ain't pullin ova
 The engine is a problem, that ain't no question
 Pop the trunk see the speakers kickin' like Beckham
 Think we got a problem, Sheek know I'm hot
 Kiss and Styles should make me a member of the Lox
 I take all the beats I remember how to box
 If I ever get knocked out, I remember how to pop
 Remember how to load everything inside my glock
 Ask the niggas in the hood cause they remember who I shot
 Think we got a problem, I snitched on myself
 And I hate rats so I dugg a ditch for myself what
 [Chorus]
 [Bun B:]
 Well it's the king of the trill Bun B'der you know the name
 And the streets is like the NBA, I love this game
 Keep a bottle of Henessey, a blunt and that purp
 With my hand up on my heater, and my killaz on churp
 You see me one deep in the spot, think I'm slippin', try ya luck
 Cause I got sixteen homeys with me, that stay ready to buck
 You can duck dodge or dive, but it won't do diddly skwat
 But leave ya with a leaky liver and both ya kidneys shot
 But you may not pimpin' I ain't fin to ask for it
 My money, my hood or my respect, I'm a blast for it
 You can't push fast forward, rewind or pause
 I'm a beat you till you shittin ya draws, so call the laws cause
 [Chorus]

Audio Features

Song Details

Duration
03:36
Tempo
109 BPM

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