Tekster: Dom Pachino. Unreleased. Problem Child.

[sample repeated throughout the song]
"And you can tell what the problem, that boy is going to hell"

[Intro: Dom PaChino]
Yeah, Tera Iz Him
The shit is real, Problem Child
Yo, yo..

[Dom PaChino]
My first born, birthed from shorty in the next project
Chinky eyed, little nigga had to gain his respect
So I bust my gun, sold drugs to they dunn
A hard rock, little nigga, runnin' two thirty-one
Made a few kingpin moves, neck rose to pretty paint
Rock cold in the trail, I'm out of state drinkin' Henny
Layin' low in places, and never seen Puerto Ricans
Bitches lovin' my style, cuz it's slang how I speak it
Blow up back to 4th's studio, burn, smoke a bloom
LP comin' soon, first niggaz was cartoon
I got touched when the day Christ died, my Earth cried
Explotation so high, though his promise to dry
As I laid in the hospital bed, leg full of lead
Sick thoughts went through my head, eyes blood shot red
On the hall, where my lawyer case ain't lookin' too good
Fake niggaz on my dick, talkin' shit in the hood
Rumors that I got merked off, get the story straight, jerk-off
A year later, spotted in a Beamer wit my shirt off
Wildin' out, burgundy doubt, went all out
Low profile, chain swingin' heavy when I'm pealin' out

[Chorus x2: Dom PaChino]
Peace, be true, deal with that
Leave ya seed and watch ya back
Wit the jake, avoid contact
And on the world make a large impact
Yo, cuz ya'll can talk all the shit ya'll want
And ya'll can smoke all the blunts and front
And yo, when funds is low at the end of the month
Re-up, and cop the Terrorist shit

[Outro: Dom PaChino]
Save ya life, word
What ya know about problems?
And got a big one, knawhatimean?
Shout out to my God, word