Fellas I wanna do my thang (yeah, yeah!)
Now you know, like, like doin' it, like, like a sex machine (go 'head, go 'head!)
Comin' out in the open, sayin' where it's at (yeah!)
Can I count it off? (yeah!)
1-2-3-4!

R.O.C., we running this rap shit...
We running this rap shit...
We running this rap shit...
We run this rap shit...
We running this rap shit...(yeah)
We running this rap shit...

I've got the Rap Patrol on the gat patrol
Foes that wanna make sure my casket's closed
Rap critics that say he's Money, Cash, Hoes
I'm from the hood stupid, what type of facts are those
If you grew up with holes in your zapatos
You'd celebrate the minute you was having dough
I'm like fuck critics, you can kiss my whole asshole
If you don't like my lyrics, you can press fast forward
Got beef with radio if I don't play they show
They don't play my hits, well I don't give a shit, so
Rap mags try and use my black ass
So advertisers can give em more cash for ads, fuckers
I don't know what you take me as
Or understand the intelligence that Jay-Z has
I'm from rags to riches, niggas I ain't dumb
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one, hit me

Look brother, how you like me now? (ow!)
Hit me!
Yeah, that's it...(Hey!)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (oooooooow!)
Hit me!'

The year is '94, in my trunk is raw
In my rearview mirror is the motherfucking law
Got two choices y'all, pull over the car or
Bounce on the devil, put the pedal to the floor
And I ain't tryna see no highway chase with Jake
Plus I got a few dollars, I can fight the case
So I, pull over to the side of the road, I heard
"Son do you know why I'm stopping you for"
Cause I'm young and I'm black and my hat's real low
Do I look like a mind reader sir, I don't know
Am I under arrest or should I guess some more?
"Well you was doing fifty-five in a fifty-four
License and registration and step out of the car
Are you carrying a weapon on you? I know a lot of you are"
I ain't stepping out of shit, all my paper's legit
"Well, do you mind if I look around the car a little bit?"
Well, my glove compartment is locked, so is the trunk in the back
And I know my rights, so you gon' need a warrant for that
"Aren't you sharp as a tack
You some type of lawyer or something
Somebody important or something"
Tah, I ain't passed the bar but I know a little bit
Enough that you won't illegally search my shit
"Well we'll see how smart you are when the K9 come"
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one, hit me

Look brother, how you like me now? (ow!)
Hit me!
Yeah, that's it...(Hey!)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (oooooooow!)
Hit me!'

Now once upon a time, not too long ago
A nigga like myself had to strong-arm a ho
This is not a ho in the sense of having a pussy
But a pussy having no goddamn sense, try and push me
I try to ignore him, talk to the Lord
Pray for him, but some fools just love to perform
You know the type, loud as a motorbike
But wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight
And only thing that's gon' happen is
I'm-a get to clapping and
He and his boys gonna be yapping 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 they cameras, snapping em
D.A. try to give a nigga shaft again
Half a mil' for bail cause I'm African
All because this fool was harassing them
Tryna play the boy like he's saccharine
But ain't nothing sweet bout how I hold my gun
I got 99 problems, being a bitch ain't one, hit me

Look brother, how you like me now? (ow!)
Hit me!
Yeah, that's it...(Hey!)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (Hit me...)
Hit me! (oooooooow!)
Hit me!'

Woo, woo
Havin' girl problems? I feel bad for you son
I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one
You crazy for this one
It's your boy