| It’s Bun Beeda, I’m a beast in the booth
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| I bleed gums and break teeth in the booth
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| At the least, I’m the truth, on a bad day I sleep the best
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| Nap, wake up, and sweep the rest
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| So keep ya vest, I’m domin like an ex-addict
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| Ya belly’s now jelly, ya face full of beet cabbage
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| Ya flow is not dro homie, you that weak package
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| And where I’m finna send yo' ass you won’t need baggage
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| We savage like the Wild Wild West
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| I’m the go flow pro, you the mile style vet
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| And I got lyrics by the mile, why bet?
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| I been doin this since Slay was on the Wildstyle set
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| All hail to the king or face treason
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| That’s when I slap wack niggas for no reason
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| And once I take it there, ain’t no easin
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| It’s alligator souffle baby, with no seasoning so.
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| Uh, waddup Bun? |
| Homie, pass the beer
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| And make it fast, like Guerilla Black’s career
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| We smokin hash, purple, sour, kush
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| Gettin high fast like the young George Bush
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| Uh, I make it fast like a robbery
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| You take it slow like Monopoly (Drive slow, homie…)
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| Bitch, I’m Termanology
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| Straight gangsta, like The Black Donnellys
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| So many hoes is on top of me
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| Last thing I’m thinkin about is monogamy (Fuck outta here.)
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| Specialized in psychology
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| Numerology, stimulatin the economy
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| Movin pounds of trees, uh you know the M. O
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| Trap star generals, whips like Jay Leno
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| Keep the shit ghetto, countin my cash
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| This is Law Town, Mass., walk through with ya jewels
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| You betta MAKE IT FAST~! |