Ms. Martin lyrics

Artist  : Big Punisher feat. Remi Martin 
Song : Ms. Martin
 

Big Punisher feat. Remi Martin

 

 Ms. Martin

 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 

 

 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