1, 2, 3 lyrics

1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems
1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems

(problems, who's got problems
She's got problems, got problems
Three thousand problems, got problems)

It's a cool summer night
My .44's on my waist gotta half a stick of dynamite
Got some beef wit some n*ggas across town
Keep my man to the ground
I gotta shut it down, they pull up on my block
I'm in my little brown hooptie
So they guess I want the white rock
They walk close towards my ride
Surprise motherf*cker it's a hit from the South side

1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problem
(I got.. problems, three thousand problems)

I put two to his head
I jumped on the southern state then I'm rushin out to Hempstead
One down and one to go
I heard the next n*gga's on and he's gotten a ball of dough
I kick in the n*gga's door
I slap the n*gga in the jaw wit my nickel played .44
And word up ya'll shoulda saw
The way this n*gga hit the floor when the Freaky got raw
Some b*tch tried to burst but I shot her in the back
BAH! Aiyyo Money where your stash at?
He took me back inside to this room
Beside the safe full a G's he had mad bags of boom
1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems
(Problems, I I got problems)

A lot to do
I call up the underground let me speak to that n*gga Lu
He said, "Taliq, whats up my man?"
I got this n*gga locked down wit my joint to his gut
And word up he got an mail press
Aiyyo Money what's this address?
1245 Boulevard Queens, and and tell my man they try to caravan
Understand I'm on a mission
And just be nice to pack some extra ammunition
And get some Phillies from the store
Yo park the van on the corner and you're comin through the side door

1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems
(I got problems, we got problems)

They arrived here on the double
Money beggin on repeat yo he don't want trouble, I told Lou to move the chairs
Aiyyo Cheeks, help me take this dead b*tch down the stairs
I come back up for the session
Money still tied the f*ck up confessin
I blow some smoke into his eyes, here n*gga
Take two more puffs before you die
Yo, I stood up, about-faced him
And yo Lost Boyz waste him (BAH BAH)
And yo Queens waste him (BAH BAH), and yo Southside waste him (BAH BAH)
1..2..3.. thousand problems
(Who got problems
Pretty Lou and the whole motherf*ckin world
I got problems)

It's 3 o'clock in the mornin
sh*t is on motherf*cker sh*t is on
Yeah yeah, I gotta get this n*gga Shawn
I'm drivin in a stolen car wit no motherf*ckin lights on
I heard Shawn got crazy ends
But before I do this thing I go and pick up my best friends
A forty ounce and lead feels right
I got this hit up on Hillside (Hillside)
Understand now he's a gonner
I roll all my windows down pull my sh*t on the corner
But I still bein' sneaky
(What's your name?) Cause I'm freaky Taliq, I'm freaky Taliq
But right now I got beef wit this n*gga named Shawn
sh*t is on word is bond money is gone
He's wit his b*tch in bed (ah ah)
I pulled out my .44, but I don't put it to his head
Cause this sh*t is too easy (even though)
Even though he can go in one squeeze G, it's it's it's crazy
Mr.B's L-B's, a people.. 1.. 2.. 3.. 3.. thousand problems
1.. 2.. 3.. thousand problems