[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