If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 (he's got 99 problems) problems, but a bitch ain't one
I got the rap patrol on the gat patrol
Foes that wanna 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 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
99 problems, but a bitch ain't one
If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
The year is '94, in my trunk is raw
In my rearview mirror is the motherfucking law
Got two choices, y'all: pull over the car or (Hmm...)
Bounce on the devil; put the pedal to the floor
And 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 what 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 mo'?"
"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 steppin out of shit; all my paper's 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 gon' need a warrant for that" (ha-ha)
"Aren't you sharp as a tack?
You some type of lawyer or something, somebody important or something?"
"Child, 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 canine comes"
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
99 problems, but a bitch ain't one
If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
Ah-ah
99 problems, but a bitch ain't one
If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
Now once upon a time, not too long ago
A nigga like myself had to strongarm a hoe
This is not a hoe in the sense of having a pussy
But a pussy having no goddamn sense; try and push me
I try to ignore him, talk to the Lord
Pray for him, but some fools just love to perform
You know the type, loud as a motorbike
But wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight
And only thing that's gon' happen is I'ma get to (whoo!) clapping and
He and his boys gon' 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
Paparazzis with they cameras, snapping them
D.A. try to give a nigga shaft again
Half a mill' for bail cause I'm African
All because this fool was harassing them
Tryin to play the boy like he's saccharine (uh-uh)
But ain't nuttin sweet, 'bout how I hold my gun
I got 99 problems; being a bitch ain't one; hit me
99 problems, but a bitch ain't one
If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
(Gosh!)
99 problems, but a bitch ain't one
If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one; hit me
Whoo
Whoo
Uh, uh
Having girl problems? I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems, and a bitch ain't one.
Ha-ha.
You crazy for this one, Rick.
This is your boy!
