| I call a slick chick the ruler…
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| Queen Tut, the first female African jeweler
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| Neck full of emeralds, respected by the criminals
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| Try to tell these sewer rats…
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| Statues of the queen in Africa look identical
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| The pale version of Nefertiti subliminal
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| They playing cover girl, caught up in another world
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| My hands on a real black oyster with a mother pearl
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| She shake a little knowledge to the drummer roll
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| She do her thing… look like summer gold
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| Her energy could brighten up a dark day
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| She doing crazy over posers…
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| Puff a little old school herb on her off day
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| Writing in her poetry journal, sipping a coffee
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| Every time she speak I think she lost me
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| Chill, you ain’t Lauryn Hill, killing me softly
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| Yeah, Queen Tut
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| She ain’t caught up in the TV or the peer pressure
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| …they say beauty in the eye of beholders
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| Her daddy called her the queen every time he would hold her
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| Now she only pick real men when she got older
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| Ain’t jealous on no women, they ain’t no chip on her shoulder
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| …all those lip injections and hip corrections
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| Black Madonna and the child, no disconnection…
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| Every time she speak I think she lost me
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| Chill, you ain’t Lauryn Hill, killing me softly
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| Yeah, Queen Tut |