Problem Child (feat. Jadakiss)

Can't really figure this clown out

Where's he from? Jamaica Queens, Cali, or down south?

And I could let an LA gun hit 'em up at Grape Street

Already told me you can't even fuck with 'em

I could let a New York knife poke 'em with one of my throw aways

But I don't wanna see no cop smoke 'em

Somebody tell Paul we riding

Or get ready to auction off a car he'd die in

Whenever we bump heads, since you like having people with you

Get you a hospital with bunk beds

Without Dr Dre, you would just make slow jams

Come up outta that witness protection program

Hoes don't really respect you, get in your place

If Big was alive, he'd a probably spit in your face

Nas been doing just fine without you

Pac probably woulda made an album about you

So I guess that just leaves me here to get rid of you

And rock Kim and them, they don't even consider you

Em know you ain't got nothing for Jada

And I know he appreciates all the money you made him

It's 2005, nobody fights fair

I just know an instrumental's your worst nightmare

But you tough and you bad, too bad you mad

Probably been in your old hood more than you have

Yeah, you sold more records than me

But in the streets, you gon' always be second to me

We was damn near feeling you

Even though your career's based of somebody damn near killing you

Shit you be doing ain't even considered rapping to us

This is probably the best thing to happen to us

Best wankster, Internet gangster

Magazine mobster shit on your whole roster

Get read to say Hail Mary's and Our Father's

Get out your black suits and hard bottoms

And don't worry, I got 'em

He ain't a problem child, just a child with a problem

Why can't you be man enough (We love you, ****, let's go)

To tell me where you're coming from

D-Block, don't think it, ****

Take a piss in your formula fifty

Drink it, ****, get shot out your Reeboks, ****

Got shot and ain't shot none back

You's a beotch, ****

If I woulda got shot on grandma's stoop

I woulda add somebody grandma duke

In the streets, they say, 50, who shot ya?

Named three **** as soon as he came out the doctor

And you far from a gangster, ****

You was talk about yourself when you made wankster, ****

Now listen, I work out, cocked guns on the DVD

Run around with cops from Homicide on TNT

****, you can suck my dick

Come around without cops, shit's on

You gon' get touched quick

'Cause I was at the Vibe when it jumped off

Put fifty grand up, you pussy, you ain't even lift a hand up

Man stabs some, police grab some

But besides that, I ain't seen nobody man up

Shit, what the plot is about?

'Cause you know that you don't need a dentist to get shot in the mouth

And the hood hates your shit, but you hot in the South

It's the crackers that buy the album, what's the plotting about?

Many men make a wish, but we ain't many men

So you gon' get death when we let them semi's spit

Why can't you be man enough

To tell me where you're coming from