Music Video

Trouble
Watch {trackName} music video by {artistName}

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Lowell George
Lowell George
Vocals
Bill Payne
Bill Payne
Piano
Roy Estrada
Roy Estrada
Bass Guitar
Milt Holland
Milt Holland
Percussion
Richie Hayward
Richie Hayward
Drums
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Lowell George
Lowell George
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Lenny Waronker
Lenny Waronker
Executive Producer
Ted Templeman
Ted Templeman
Producer
Bobby Hata
Bobby Hata
Recording Engineer
Donn Landee
Donn Landee
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

[Unknown Girl] Cities, streets, that's where I learned Play with fire, you'll get burned When the heat was on, I turned Turned to trouble... trouble [Lil Wayne] Yeah, yeah, C three, yeah New Orleans baby, a street called Eagle And everybody's ill, yeah, illegal People steal cars, we steal people We eat like dogs, but we still people And even when ya lost, trouble still see you And even if ya dead broke, we are still equal One time for the lil people Eat ya meal, don't let ya meal eat you (I run with trouble... trouble) Street runner we crazy with dis one I run... with... trouble [Lil Wayne] And just the other day, my nigga Chris killed his self I pray to God, that I never feel the way he felt Where do we go when there's no help? He figured Heaven, so he went left Ya'll know that ain't right Plus, he was high as a plane that same night Shit, I probably been on that same flight Shit, I probably had that same fight I just kept swingin Twelve rounds comin, bells ringin (I run with trouble... trouble) Introduced to the game, when I was just a child Mama love a drug dealer, straight quit her job And took his life, and along with him, I died And she died, we died Then came my daughter, to my bed side Told me daddy, don't cry, I'm alive I look her in the eyes, and see me with no sins But this is how the note ends [Lil Wayne] Ya know, let's kick it back I can't call it (I run with trouble... trouble) Ya know, heheh Yeah, yeah [Lil Wayne] The tool, it poke out the jeans The coke smell just like a bunch of coffee beans Ya nah mean? and everything ain't what it seem Ya nah mean? and don't play that game, without your team Kill for my bread, kill for my G's, kill for my cream I will have that red beam on hot beam Now I hear sirens, wait I think I see one behind me I ain't trippin baby, money got me Unh (I run with trouble... trouble) And fuck the police, fuck the feds, too I ain't jumpin in that jump suit A one, I'm on my one, two Check me out, I fuck around and check you Respect due, pay yours nigga Mines under the seat, by my feet, where's yours nigga? Too much hoarse liquor, huh? Too much pressure, too much force Too much money, never heard that before Shit And we stop the snitches at the door Cut that tail off the rat, he won't rat no more (I run with trouble... trouble) Shit, that's right, get trapped fuck with my G's Keep shootin, 'til I burn my sleeves Nigga please, these boys is G's Represent New Orleans, like a Florida leaf Shit, what you know about it, we more than thieves We steal from the rich, so the poor can eat Yeah, niggas act up, my niggas act accordingly Hey soldier, don't war with me Jump on it
Writer(s): Mike Stoller, Jerry Leiber Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out