Ras Kass - Get At Me Lyrics
Damn nigga, whats wrong wit you[ras kass](I reign) I reign more cop than johnnySippin tanquery with o.j.Sportin bruno maliNot guilty but filthySmellin like chritstian diorInfiniti qx4, gimme yoursOf course, sinninSwimmin in the abdomen of pretty womenLove to love ya, like timbalandWhen in the endinLike three strikes in the ninth inningI rock satin boxers, cotton socks and denimThe game he kick, special teams couldnt returnGot you wild like a texturizerBurn like the ultra-perm, toss it up like a geyserSosa, kosher, nostra, like keyserAnd got a thing for rehabilitating hood-ratsWho keep their hair and nails doneAnd they legs waxedI peep that, you got a man, but you want a homieLove a friend, my sentiments exactlyGet at meChorus [karida johnson]I like your style, can we kick it, oh wowBaby, so you can get at me[ras kass] I got no game, its just the women understand my storyI got a man, but we can still be friendsSo you can get at me, baby, baby-bay, babyVerse twoSome things make you happy just to be aliveLike seeing toni braxton ***** on the cover of the vibeDrive, like hitting two-twenty-fiveIn the pin with no spotI survive drama and then know when to lick shotsKeep a top notch just a phone call away from my crotchNever brought sand to the beachCause these streets is baywatch (true)You know how we doSatin lingerie I see throughNow she barely even kiss youLeaving 1-7-7-1-5-4-0-0 on my pager (I miss you boo)Your chicken-head wife was poultryUndersexed and sultryThats the rhyme and reason why we committed adulteryI swear, womens love from bel-air to welfareChalkin up these frequent flyer miles on con-airHer momma shoulda named her casinoShe got the liquor in the frontPoke her in the rearChorusVerse threeYou know my steez thoughDark skin and creole, Im bout itJust without the master p doughBut see though, my tax bracket decent and increasinMake no mistakeYou cant get a slice if you dont bake the cakeTo reverse trickMy silly ex-***** transport brickFor twenty percent - commissionShe dressed up with no where to goWhile Im blowin up your dress like marilyn monroeFor show, at my girl party, flowinBut I think she caught me like a naziNow Im servin, she got me under surveilenceLike john gotti, now Im signin on the lowActin straight illuminatiDont get mad, Im only being honestIts clarence thomas (***** you ras)You promiseThen freak me, slightly below the hipsAnd blow me a kiss with your ***** lipsGet at meChorusGet at me
