Soundboy - Ms. Martin

Song Rating: 7.56/10

Song lyrics:

[Intro: Big Pun]
Yeah, sometimes you gotta fool em
Sometimes you gotta send a woman to do a mans job, nahmean
In this case, my girl hit like a grown motherf**in man
Yall n***as better lay low
Catch you where it hurt, nawmean
Blow your balls off n***a

[Refrain: Big Pun]
Where my girl at, quick to bust the mack, better believe that
She always got my back, n***a twirl that
About to blaze a sack, where the weed at
She dont know how to act, cause thats my girl black
With that monster rap, better believe that
You know the Bronx is back, she represent that
Cause Terror Squad got her back, some say heed that
My n***as love to scrap

[Verse 1: Remi Martin]
I inhale the deepest, cock back and bust rhymes at your speakers
Im 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 b**h talk sh**, Imma destroy her fetus
Her dead baby popped this p**y, and his boys cant beat us
Straight strong armin, bombardin, and bogardin
Remi dont write her own rhymes, n***a, I beg your pardon
Its Ms. Martin I done broke night in the studio writin
While fraud broads dont get no publishin, still be bitin
They k** 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
Yall dont know diddly, I spit hot and drop sh**
Every time I kick a rhyme, Pun I burn my lip
Take another pull, bust another shot, yall cant stop me
Come through in a jail suit, and the new Beef n Broccolis
Doin it, If Im havin a good time and you ruin it
I seen a nice casket thatll look good with you in it
New improved sh**, the year start with a two sh**
Next millenium, sell a million, clue sh**

Exclusive, to tell the truth, yall useless
Cause Im a dime that could rhyme you still on the deuce list


[Verse 2: Remy Ma]
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 a**, car with no gas
Tryna go fast, I love to hear the guns go blast
I love the sounds of the shells fallin down
Love to smoke weed, stay blowin trees, f** liquor
When sh** get thick, I love to hear my b**hes raise his clique up
You sick, but Im sicker, plus our guns is bigger
If you really wanna k** us, do it n***a pull the trigga
How you figure, you could really come and take whats mine
And all I gotta do is send a little letter to Rah
Hell send the troops out, my brother dont hesitate to pull a tool out
And Im his little sis, so he taught me the same sh**
Quick to flip, but your name should be prickless
Cause every time you open your mouth, you s**in my dick
Talkin sh**, as if you a soldier n***a
When you a no cash, low cla**, doja n***a
Yall rock rocks, we bling bling boulders n***a
Look over your shoulder Im in the Rover, its over n***a
Inhale, cock back and bust, just because
I know none of yall busters is touchin us
I got the thoroughest thugs and, baby reminisces
That dont give a f**, with a aim that never misses
Hugs and kisses never, just slugs and stiches
Thugs and b**hes forever, check the mugshot pictures
f** the weather, I still got my tan Timbs on
Just copped the pink mink, and winter been gone
I been on this thug sh** yall cant seem to f** wit
My sh** is hot dogs, to top it off, still spittin mustard
No fair, cause I dont care I go to war wit a musket
Just give me some Oreos, a jar of dro and two dutches
Cause Pun be the nicest motherf**er on the market
Now he got the nicest b**h, what, Remi Martin


Date of text publication: 16.01.2021 at 02:10