Got the rock patrol on the gat patrol
Foes that wanna make sure my casket's closed
Critics are saying he's "money, cash, hoes,
"From the hood, stupid, what types of facts are those?"
If you grew up with holes in your Zapatos
You'd celebrate the minute you was havin' dough
I'm like "Fuck you critics, kiss my whole asshole"
If you don't like my lyrics you can press fast-forward
I've got beef with radio if I don't play their show
They don't play my hits, but I don't give a shit, so
Rap mags try and use my black ass
So advertisers can give 'em more cash for ads
I don't know what you take me as
Or understand the intelligence Jay-Z has
I'm from rags to riches, nigger, I ain't dumb
I got ninety nine problems and a bitch ain't one
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain't one
If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son
I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain't one
Once upon a time not too long ago
A nigger like myself had to strong arm a ho
This is not a ho in the sense of havin' a pussy
But a pussy having no goddamn sense, try and push me
I tried to ignore it, pray to the lord
Pray for him, cause some fools love to perform
You know the type, loud as a motorbike
But wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight
And the only thing that's gonna happen
Is that I'm gonna get to clappin'
He and his boys gonna be yappin' 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
Paparazzis with their cameras, snapping at them
D.A. tried to give a nigga a shaft again
A million for bail cause I'm African
All because the fools harassin'
Try to play the boy like he's saccharin
But ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
I got a ninety nine problems
But being a bitch ain't one