Houston (We Have A Problem) Lyrics

Houston, we have a problem

I done had two classmates die from fentanyl, yeah we got a problem,

I done had two classmates die with money, robbin', we got a problem,

Few of my favorite rappers, they done died from sippin' drank, they was lickin' the bottle,

You got a problem with me, pull up the southside, Scott is the block

And we goin' dumb, nah, the gun is a drum line with a short kick

Call it a onside, but this one you can't recover,

Four hundred years being a slave

Blacks will never recover,

Django, two guns in both hands, make em aim together,

You and your bitch gon' be lame together, how you gon' shame the devil,

Jesus walks in, I'm on his side, it look like we came together,

I'm on the fifth floor like Bruh Man, y'all jumpmans from Japan,

Them fake shoes y'all buy off them websites y'all wear at night

I don't understand, what the fuck are those,

It's levels to the shit, boy, I be on the upper row,

So high up I can't see the show, my Higheadz has my people know

That my old shit sound like old Krit,

I been doin' this since 06,

Get your nose split, get your doors kicked

My old bitch can't even get my old dick,

Dave Chapelle show my whole life and be your whole skit

Put your favorite rappers together, I kill your whole list,

And you knows this pose twist, give me the whole shit, whole brick,

Or give me the loot, gimmie me the bread

South Lawn, one room, slept at the foot of the bed,

Fuck what they said, run from the feds

Uh, run till I'm dead, slide through the hood like I'm on a sled,

Santa Claus, niggas in red

Wear the wrong color, Shaquille O'Neal, these niggas will bang on your head fasho

Niggas is scared I know, niggas is dead I know, but still I go,

They hit your head and shoulders, no shampoo, aim at your head and shoulders,

Folgers, Folgers, no sir niggas ain't tryin' to get up, duck,

Or you might never get up, keepin' some lean in the cup

Get the wrong pill, nigga might never get up, what the fuck,

Went from ridin' on a city bus to ridin' in a trophy truck

22 inches up, the only way I'm pullin' up on a slut, I be in the cut

Like a snitch, I be in the cut, Henny fill my cup, slow grindin', I ain't tryin' to rush

Nikes on my feet, kickin' dust, these my old shoes,

I just got these hoes yesterday they still my old shoes,

Old news, yeah, I'm old school, what them hoes do,

Feelin' like I'm Pat like I'm Keke, like I'm old school,

We don't know you, wrong aisle, I'm on row two

Lookin' at my neck, play with me, you'll be froze too, we do what we want because we chose to

Michael Johnson gold shoes, that's how we be winnin' the game and runnin' up in your hoes too

Throwin' strikes, nigga, we can pitch and we can bowl too,

All we do is eat, I need a plate and a bowl too,

A chain, runnin' four two,

On the field, like I'm Tyriq Hill, never Tommy Hilfiger,

No, I'm a real nigga, you gotta deal with us,

Like a class full of bad kids, you gotta deal with us,

Yeah, keep it real with us, will you kill nah, deuce is up, your time is up,

I'm pullin' up candy green, you thought I was here, I disappeared, the car's a time machine,

I come when I want, I leave when I want, like how much time I need,

I lost my keys, I call my freak I be Apollo Creed,

I pay my dues and pay my fees, shades on, ain't nothin' to see,

While my heart on my sleeve, my car is clean like toiletries,

Imagine how far I could be, my flows is like a story out the Bible, it could be hard to believe,

I built the ark and filled it up to sail across the seven seas,

No, this show ain't from the seventies,

We ain't Eddie B's, eatin' steak macaroni, cheese,

Lemon water, please, wait up, bought the ticket longer than the nails on Cardi B

Tip the waiter good, sorry, this how all my parties be,

Who gon' clean, who gon' ride who gon' slide, when it's time, who gon' leave,

Who gon' follow, who gon' pay, who gon' borrow