Yeah, sometimes you gotta fool em
 Sometimes you gotta send a woman to do a man's job, nawmean?
 In this case, my girl hit like a grown motherfucking man
 Y'all niggas better lay low
 Catch you in a hurtin, nawmean?
 Blow your balls off nigga

 HOOK: Big Pun
 Where my girl at
 Quick to bust the mack, better believe that
 She always got my back, nigga twirl that
 About to blaze a sack, where the weed at
 She don't know how to act, cuz that's my girl black
 With that monster rap, better believe that
 You know the Bronx is back, she represent that
 Cuz Terror Squad got her back, some say heed that
 My niggas love to scrap

 Verse 1: Remi Martin
 I inhale the deepest, cock back and bust rhymes at your speakers
 I'm troubled, shoot out the air bubbles in your sneakers
 The type to cop a Range along with all the features
 Then take the back streets to avoid the leeches
 A pregnant bitch talk shit, I'ma destroy her fetus
 Her dead baby popped this pussy, and his boys can't beat us
 Straight strong armin, bombarding, and bogarding
 Remi don't write her own rhymes, nigga, I beg your pardon
 It's Ms. Martin I done broke night in the studio writin
 While fraud broads don't get no publishin, still be bitin
 They kill me lyin, like they the ones doin the scribin
 When you can hear the ghostwriter, all up in they rhymin
 I flows like water, got this drizzle with little C
 Catch me with Pun eatin skittles in the middle of Little Italy
 Y'all don't know diddly, I spit hot, and drop shit
 Every time I kick a rhyme, Pun I burn my lip
 Take another pull, bust another shot, y'all can't stop me
 Come through in a jail suit, and a new B from Broccoli's
 Doin it, If I'm havin a good time and you ruin it
 I seen a nice casket that'll look good with you in it
 New improved shit, the year start with a 2 shit
 Next millenium, sell a million, clue shit
 Exclusive, to tell the truth, y'all useless
 Cuz I'm a dime that could rhyme you still on the deuce list

 HOOK

 Verse 2:
 Remi Martin, dash, reminisce, slash
 Remi, cash like a check in a stash
 Me without rhymes is like a flynt with no flash
 Stripper with no ass, car with no gas
 Tryin to go fast, I love to hear the guns go blast
 (Blau, blau, blau, blau) I love the sounds of the shells fallin down
 Love to smoke weed, stay blowin trees, fuck liquor
 When shit get thick, I love to hear my bitches raise his clique up
 You sick, but I'm sicker, plus our guns is bigger
 If you really wanna kill us, do it nigga, pull the trigga
 How you figure, you could really come and take what's mine
 And all I gotta do is send a little letter to Rah
 He'll send the troops out
 My brother don't hesitate to pull a tool out
 And I'm his little sis, so he taught me the same shit
 Quick to flip, but your name should be prickless
 Cuz every time you open your mouth, you suckin my dick
 Talkin shit, as if you a soldier nigga
 When you a no cash, low class, doja nigga
 Y'all rock rocks, we bling bling boulders nigga
 Look over your shoulder I'm in the Rover, it's over nigga
 Inhale, cock back and bust, just because
 I know none of y'all busters is touchin us
 I got the thoroughest thugs and, baby reminisces
 That don't give a fuck, with a aim that never misses
 Hugs and kisses never, just slugs and stiches
 Thugs and bitches forever, check the mugshot pictures
 Fuck the weather, I still got my tan Timbs on
 Just copped the pink mink, and winter been gone
 I been on this thug shit y'all can't seem to fuck wit
 My shit is hot dogs, to top it off, still spittin mustard
 No fair, cuz I don't care I go to war wit a musket
 Just give me some oreos, a jar of dro and two dutches
 Cuz Pun be the nicest motherfucker on the market
 Now he got the nicest bitch, what, Remi Martin

 HOOK