Problem Lyrics - Best In The Burbs - Chris Webby

I was coming down, I was switching lanes 

I do it real big, that'll never change 

Switchin' old schools, catchin' private planes 

I'm a beast, I'm a dog, I'm a mothafuckin' problem 

Hip-Hop, what you know about it? 

I murder everything, how could you ever doubt it? 

Bitch I done this shit for real, when you see me shout it 

I'm a beast, I'm a dog, I'm a mothafuckin' problem 

1: Chris Webby] 

I'll get your girl's head spinnin' 'til that bitch is dizzy 

Shot glass full and I'll tip it quickly 

Shouts to Big K.R.I.T. in Mississippi 

On my hustle, word to Nipsey 

Back here to rip beats, that's what it is see 

Gone for a second but I'm back, did you miss me? 

Bomb on a record with the sack of the piff, B 

Bomb any record when I snap and it hits me 

You'll get chewed like a frisbee 

I'm a rottweiler bitch and my leash isn't with me 

I need a priest to forgive me 

For the sins I commit from CT to Sydney 

Jesus, indeed a psychopath 

And not a goddamn soul could write this fast 

Not a damn soul know how to write this track 

Shuttin' shit down 'til the lights go black 

Kill 'em with subliminals, unhittable 

An original criminal with the syllables 

Fuck a visual, I'm invisible 

10-4: Situation Critical 

R-R-Roger that, I b-b-b-body tracks 

So all these hatin' copycats can suck my dick and swallow that 

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2: Big K.R.I.T.] 

It's young Krizzle and I'm certified 

Pull up in your lane with the bitch you came with 'fore you get inside 

Built tight like a motherfuckin' cutlass on point 

With the D's and the window tint 

Wood on deck with the chrome on rim 

Piled up as far as I ain't tripping on them 

Bitch, you know what this is 

Ain't got time to waste 

Rather not grind the brakes 

Rather just take my bread - get pounds of cake 

Get a bitch down to shake, spring up in over head 

Plot like chess, grind like skaters 

Bring a bitch down like Garcia Y Vega 

Buzz be fine and surround me with paper 

League of my own, motherfuck your majors 

Now I'm back on track 

Dark with the flow, black on black 

Twenty-four beat, I shat on that 

Suburb with the urgin' to hear me rap 

Still get love in the hearts of trap 

Still hit the bank and they give me dap 

See wherever Big K.R.I.T. been that day 

Shit he thought Sugar Ray 

3: Chris Webby] 

Rollin' and ready to fight and throw fists 

I had a bad day and I'm pissed so don't trip 

You wanna get hit? Then keep runnin' your lip 

Because I got a short fuse and it's already lit 

About to flip if you say another word to me 

Not killin' a beat doesn't occur to me 

Not true if they say they never heard of me 

If you want me to stop, you better murder me 

South to the North, holla back 

CT love, I got your back 

White boy's here and I rock a rap 

Rock my brim low and roll that grass 

So cinematic when I rock a beat 

Cameras on, and they all on me 

With my dude from the South K-R-I-T 

If they steppin' in the way then R-I-P 

Spittin' heavy dough 

Need that fire? Let me know 

That's why your girl's Facebook status is a Webby quote 

I got 'em, ain't nobody big enough to block 'em 

This isn't algebra baby, but I'm a fuckin' problem