Lyrics
If you’re having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
I got the rap patrol on the gat patrol
Foes that want to make sure my casket’s closed
Rap critics that say he’s “Money Cash Hoes”
I’m from the hood, stupid, what type of facts are those?
If you grew up with holes in your zapatos
You’d celebrate the minute you was having dough
I’m like, “Fuck critics” you can kiss my whole asshole
If you don’t like my lyrics, you can press fast forward
Got beef with radio if I don’t play they show
They don’t play my hits, well, I don’t give a shit, so
Rap mags try and use my black ass
So advertisers can give ’em more cash for ads, fuckers
I don’t know what you take me as
Or understand the intelligence that Jay-Z has
I’m from rags to riches, niggas I ain’t dumb
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
If you having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
The year’s ’94 and my trunk is raw
In my rearview mirror is the motherfucking law
I got two choices y’all, pull over the car or
Bounce on the devil, put the pedal to the floor
Now I ain’t trying to see no highway chase with Jake
Plus I got a few dollars I can fight the case
So I, pull over to the side of the road
I heard, “Son, do you know why I’m stopping you for?”
“Cause I’m young and I’m black and my hat’s real low”
Do I look like a mind reader, sir? I don’t know
Am I under arrest or should I guess some more?
“Well you was doing fifty-five in a fifty-four” (uh huh)
“License and registration and step out of the car”
“Are you carrying a weapon on you, I know a lot of you are”
I ain’t stepping out of shit, all my papers legit
“Well do you mind if I look around the car a little bit?”
Well my glove compartment is locked, so is the trunk in the back
And I know my rights so you goin’ need a warrant for that
“Aren’t you sharp as a tack? You some type of lawyer or something?”
“Somebody important or something?”
Well, I ain’t passed the bar, but I know a little bit
Enough that you won’t illegally search my shit
“Well we’ll see how smart you are when the K-9 come”
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
If you having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
If you having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Now once upon a time not too long ago
A nigga like myself had to strong-arm a ho
This is not a ho in the sense of having a pussy
But a pussy having no goddamn sense try and push me
I tried to ignore ’em, talk to the Lord
Pray for ’em, ’cause some fools just love to perform
You know the type, loud as a motorbike
But wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight
The only thing that’s goin’ happen is I’ma get to clapping and
He and his boys goin’ be yapping to the Captain
And there I go trapped in the Kit-Kat again
Back through the system with the riff-raff again
Fiends on the floor scratching again
Paparazzi’s with they cameras, snapping ’em
D.A. tried to give a nigga shaft again
Half a mil’ for bail ’cause I’m African
All because this fool was harassing them
Trying to play the boy like he’s saccharine
But ain’t nothing sweet ’bout how I hold my gun
I got ninety-nine problems being a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
If you having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain’t one
If you having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me
Having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems and a bitch ain’t one
You’re crazy for this one, Rick, it’s your boy