| Gotta keep a jig on the sugar flats
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| The Sonny Chee
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| The Geechi Suede
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| Back to back in action
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| This how we do it
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| Yes darlin' to the Camp-a Lo-a
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| I’m saucy with the caesar, wave the booga out the Rover
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| We coastin', swervin' with multiple luchini
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| I puff the reefer roaches and get loose off fioritti
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| The cutter, the oxy, the herb and really schemin'
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| The mac eleven subtract from your dreamin'
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| The Crooklyn, the Boogie, and can’t forget the Queens and
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| The Harlem river drivin' all the boroughs in between
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| Ayo, check it
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| Dig the in-between flats, give her love, give her that
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| Underneath the moon, checking soon for the sugar wolves
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| Bangin' harlequins on the air of the shiba drum
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| Swoop back attack, Lo pack, check the hourglass
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| Bona fide, hit me satisfied up on cloud nine
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| Love Potion No. 9, foxy was crusher
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| Nick of time, I stay above the ground and murk
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| The corners ain’t safe according to the above me
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| So we breeze, put cruise controller on ease
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| Cuz we the jiggin' jungle gods, super fly vandal thieves
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| Now
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| Photograph the Sundance Kid, satin freelance
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| Hang ten, I shit on you, fuck y’all
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| Callin' Cheeba too sweet, gentle phrase shout it
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| In Sugar Ray heaven, not the youngest dynamo
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| Cool with the coon skin, spook by a door now
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| What be the flight of the black crows, now dig that
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| I want action
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| A piece of the action
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| I live for the action
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| I got for the action
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| A piece of the action
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| I want action
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| I live for the action
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| I got for the action
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| A piece of the action
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| It’s me, Allah, it’s the chocolate star
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| Bless the vein that kiss the pen
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| It’s the super fly jungle god, Allah
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| Love the Solegaard pumpin' fruit from the yard
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| Runnin' this blade from head to the grave
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| Grip what you treasure, we huntin' for the pleasure
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| It’s sho 'nuff the vine, this style of mine
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| Startin' the scene with the mean
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| Yeah
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| I was born in a state of grace, I never caught a three-o-clock lace
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| I make it happen with the toast in your face, and that’s my word
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| Bronze blocks I boogie, I’m singin' songs with the villains
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| Cuz we’re acting juvenile, shankin' cats up in lobby buildings
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| And I’m forever and a lever lookin' jiggy
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| But chino figures Cleopatra swigga stone and raw diggahs
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| Your lost soul don’t belong here
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| And I’mma keep it Coolie High until my Camp is in the clear
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| —toxicatin' ya ear with scats from the sugar flats
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| Spillin' the Lo sak-ah, convincer, take it light
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| Layin' right on the short eye scar
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| Bubblin' snatchin' campus of the diamond crooks
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| Cats of the lowest caliber with givin' up
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| Breakin' the shoveling stamp champs rollin' bones
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| Rubber token chokin' tight for them busy broads
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| Cotton dispatchin' ain’t no bailin' out
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| Ayo
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| I lust the lacer
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| No better time than now to let the
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| I want this canvas they see me
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| When I do the dirty, I keep the hammer easily seen
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| I hope the fuzz don’t search me, we gettin' jiggy with Corona
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| And tequila, vodka, and I don’t fret your candy ass
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| Cuz you
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| Bumpin' black Caesar on high, hell up in Harlem tonight
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| Crackin' the crab leg, then we takin' flight
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| Flashin' high beams
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| Holdin' high penny repellant
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| No doubt
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| Melody with the glue stick, I’m Beverley
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| Security to teflon
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| Multiply the Coolie High and a g for Grayson
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| Devoted to the station in this melon pop we livin'
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| I’m giving love to those who give the love unconditional
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| Incorporated for life, the Lo carries on |