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Artist: Big Pun f/ Remi Martin 
Album:  Yeeeah Baby 
Song:   Ms. Martin 
Typed by: 

Intro: Big Pun 
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 the new Beef 'n' Broccolis
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 


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