Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Get At Me , by - Ras Kass. Song from the album Rasassination (The End), in the genre ПопRelease date: 31.12.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Priority
Song language: English
Get At Me |
| 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 |
| I like your style, can we kick it, oh wow |
| Baby, so you can get at me |
| 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 |
| 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 Get at me DO YOU YAHOO?! |