J. Cole - Problems Lyrics
These are Problems Lyrics by J. Cole.
Yea, yea, yea, Dear Mrs. Bill Collector
I know ya just doing your job, don’t mean to disrespect ya
But we’ve been going through this thang since way back
I told ya when I get the dough I would pay back
But I got problems babayy…yea, if you only knew
I got bigger problems babbayyy
So why ya talkin about the money that I owe, like as if I didn’t know man, it don’t mean nothing to me
Cause right now I got my lil boy crying, and my grandmother dying, could you please stop f--kin with me?
Listen here, I aint lookin for no tears, but my brother got a year, and my momma keep smoking that sh-t
On top of that, I’m broke, please put that in your notes for the next one to call me up talking that sh-t
Hey, Dear Mr. Policeman
Hey am I wrong, aint you suppose to keep the peace man?
I coulda swore I was driving pretty peaceful
So why the hell is you pullin over me fo’?
Is it this black Mercedez? (Oh now I get it, I get it, I get it)
Or cause I’m black? Hmmm, maybe
Hey, tell me why my hands start sweatin and I hold my breath everytime that you get behind me
I turn my music down, so you won’t hear a sound, man I’m nervous like I got a couple pounds on me
You pulled me over, you frown on me
With your flashlight, tell me what do you see
Thug ni--as, drug dealers, its a trip, every nig-a in this whip got a mothaf--kin college degree
Yea, my middle finger to the law, bustin off, tryna touch the sky
My teacher said, “Impossible”, but I’mma f--kin try
Plus how he gon’ tell me, he dont make the rules
There’s ni--as dying everyday, but we don’t make the news
Instead they talkin bout some thunderstorm, cyclones
Timmy got his bike stole, top story, Tiger Woods “be f--kin all these white hoes”
Anchorman stop snitchin
Cut the commercial, he be texting all the side bitches, hey my goodness
How ironic, on trial for possession of some chronic
My lawyer came to court, man he was higher than the comet
Hey your honor, is you kidding? How you sit above me?
Are you perfect mothaf--ker, how you finna judge me?
When you home you dont cuss, drink and puff like us
These cops is bad boys, baby just like Puff
They hate they jobs and they days be f--ked up like us
At the end of the day, you ni--as just like us
These were Problems Lyrics by J. Cole.