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"Like Whaaat (Remix)" lyrics by PROBLEM
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"Like Whaaat (Remix)"
[feat. Wiz Khalifa, Tyga, Chris Brown & Master P]

[Verse 1: Problem]
Who dat, talkin' bout, who dat?
Run up on me, you'll get your ass beat blue black
Go on get nerve, I'm off the curb
Push mountains of herb, you niggas already heard
The bro Berg keep a pistol gripped pump on his lap at all times
Wherever, however, 'cause young niggas they trying
See 'em and be like "huh, nigga, what?"
"Huh? Give a fuck like what?"
Hell yeah, this the remix, we comin' harder than cement
Put the blow to they nose, no Kleenex
Shining like the sun, no Phoenix
Diamond Lane gang wear it big, no 3X (free Miller?)
You gangbangin' foolie chucker
[?] still good on the block, Timmy Duncan [?]
[?] labels can't advance me [?]
That Cali [?] got Diddy dancing

[Hook: Problem]
I'm just doing my thang, fingers in the sky
Banging my game like uh
Go on fall back, cause you don't want no problems like that
Cause we gonna be like huh, nigga what,
Huh, give a fuck, nigga whaat
Huh, nigga what,
Huh, give a fuck, nigga whaat

[Verse 2: Wiz Khalifa]
What's smackin 30, under 30
I'm a young rich black man
What's happening
No it ain't Taylor, less' my hands is in
Grands I'm a spend, grams put them in
Seen that Bombay, ran from the gin
Staying low key, still they know me
Smoking OG, and I blow it by the O-Z
We faded ho please
I'm getting stupid high, me and P-R-O-B
My J's super old, Rick Owens, no sleeves
We at the after-party, you can bring you own weed
And We gon' take shots until someone has to drive us home
Come from a place where they do tote that chrome
Smile on they face, but ain't nothing a game
Stacking that paper, don't get in their way
Or Rat-tat-tat


[Verse 3: Chris Brown]
Look, ok it's OHB so nigga, bag bag
I got an ounce of that bounce in a Glad bag
Molly fucking up my liver, got a bad back
And if you trying to fuck with her, I'm a tax that
Ass all on the floor, I'm trynna pour it up bitch
Lean on my dick so slow it up bitch
And the police trynna pull up on the scene
Then they ask you what you seen
I ain't seen shit
A hundred niggas right behind me that's the drum line
All you hear is 'blat, blat', hit it one time
Fuck a punch line, nigga had bread since the lunch line
I can put them soldiers on the front line
Open season, just nigga give me the reason
To bust, and just let it squeeze and
My rope-a-dope is the meanest
I box you up in the freezer
Comatose, paraplegic
I'm dodging the misdemeanors
Hoping I don't get subpoenas but I [?]


[Verse 4: Tyga]
Huh? banging out the truck
I'm T-Raww, bitch, go on let a nigga fuck
Huh? bitch you heard what I said
Your bitch is a bird, but I don't give her bread
What? Problem pass the weed
These niggas claim they ballin'
Then why they clothes free?
These motherfuckers cheap
Like a nosebleed seat
You ain't gotta go to Miami bitch to feel the heat (WOO!)
LA, burner to your belly
My niggas OGs, keep the burner in the telly
Getting head till it ache, that's a motherfucking headache
Do this shit tonight, send it straight to felly felly,
Nigga Why? I'm selling dreams, the money team
Niggas spend crack but they ain't got no fiends
Got the juice and the cream
Wu-Tang, Raheim
I'm a motherfucking, money machine nigga


[Master P:]
How ya do that there!

[Verse 5: Master P]
Probably getting paper
But don't fuck with you broke hoes, niggas, or you haters
Maaan D. Howard with the motherfucking Lakers
I represent the street, No Limit is the label
Throw your hoods up, motherfucker where you from?
We in this bitch deep
And it can get dumb
Niggas in the back motherfucker poppin' bottles
Chasing bad bitches and them niggas throwing dollars
Louis V down from my head to my toes
C-Murder in the pen, and that iron getting swole
Never gave a fuck 'bout no niggas wanna hate
Keep the chopper in the car, case a nigga wanna play
She showed me the titties, I call them bitches Dhali
I know she a freak, cause she gone off molly
Pushing 160 when I'm riding in the go
You ain't from round here, nigga better walk slow, or get smoked


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