Got the rock patrol on the gat patrol Foes that wanna make sure my casket's closed Critics are saying he's "money, cash, hoes, "From the hood, stupid, what types of facts are those?" If you grew up with holes in your Zapatos You'd celebrate the minute you was havin' dough I'm like "Fuck you critics, kiss my whole asshole" If you don't like my lyrics you can press fast-forward I've got beef with radio if I don't play their show They don't play my hits, but I don't give a shit, so Rap mags try and use my black ass So advertisers can give 'em more cash for ads I don't know what you take me as Or understand the intelligence Jay-Z has I'm from rags to riches, nigger, I ain't dumb I got ninety nine problems and a bitch ain't one I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain't one If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain't one Once upon a time not too long ago A nigger like myself had to strong arm a ho This is not a ho in the sense of havin' a pussy But a pussy having no goddamn sense, try and push me I tried to ignore it, pray to the lord Pray for him, cause some fools love to perform You know the type, loud as a motorbike But wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight And the only thing that's gonna happen Is that I'm gonna get to clappin' He and his boys gonna be yappin' 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 their cameras, snapping at them D.A. tried to give a nigga a shaft again A million for bail cause I'm African All because the fools harassin' Try to play the boy like he's saccharin But ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun Ain't nothing sweet 'bout how I hold my gun I got a ninety nine problems But being a bitch ain't one