Damn nigga, what's wrong wit you
  
   [Ras Kass]
  
   (I reign) I reign more cop than Johnny
   Sippin' tanquery with o.j.
   Sportin' bruno mali
   Not guilty but filthy
   Smellin' like Chritstian Dior
   Infiniti QX4, gimme yours
   Of course, sinnin
   Swimmin' in the abdomen of pretty women
   Love to love ya, like Timbaland
   When in the endin
   Like three strikes in the ninth inning
   I rock satin boxers, cotton socks and denim
   The game he kick, special teams couldn't return
   Got you wild like a texturizer
   Burn like the ultra-perm, toss it up like a geyser
   Sosa, kosher, nostra, like keyser
   And got a thing for rehabilitating hood-rats
   Who keep their hair and nails done
   And they legs waxed
   I peep that, you got a man, but you want a homie
   Love a friend, my sentiments exactly
   Get at me
  
   chorus [Karida Johnson]
  
   I like your style, can we kick it, oh wow
   Baby, so you can get at me
  
   [Ras Kass] I got no game, It's just the women Understand my story
  
   I got a man, but we can still be friends
   So you can get at me, baby, baby-bay, baby
  
   Verse Two
  
   Some things make you happy just to be alive
   Like seeing Toni Braxton naked on the cover of the vibe
   Drive, like hitting two-twenty-five
   In the pin with no spot
   I survive drama and then know when to lick shots
   Keep a top notch just a phone call away from my crotch
   Never brought sand to the beach
   Cause these streets is baywatch (true)
   You know how we do
   Satin lingerie I see through
   Now she barely even kiss you
   Leaving 1-7-7-1-5-4-0-0 on my pager (I miss you boo)
   Your chicken-head wife was poultry
   Undersexed and sultry
   That's the rhyme and reason why we committed adultery
   I swear, womens love from bel-air to welfare
   Chalkin' up these frequent flyer miles on Con-Air
   Her momma shoulda named her Casino
   She got the liquor in the front
   Poke her in the rear
  
   chorus
  
   Verse Three
  
   You know my steez though
   Dark skin and creole, I'm 'bout it
   Just without the Master P dough
   But see though, my tax bracket decent and increasin
   Make no mistake
   You cant get a slice if you don't bake the cake
   To reverse trick
   My silly ex-bitch transport brick
   For twenty percent - commission
   She dressed up with no where to go
   While I'm blowin up your dress like Marilyn Monroe
   For show, at my girl party, flowin
   But I think she caught me like a nazi
   Now I'm servin', she got me under surveilence
   Like John Gotti, now I'm signin' on the low
   Actin' straight Illuminati
   Don't get mad, I'm only being honest
   It's Clarence Thomas (fuck you Ras)
   You promise
   Then freak me, slightly below the hips
   And blow me a kiss with your pussy lips
   Get at me
  
   chorus
  
   Get at me