| Buddy Slim, he’s in the house
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| And to my nigga,
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| And to my doll baby joy
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| Yes you know the flavor, you know the sty
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| As I’m grooving, guess why
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| Salutations, the creation from the booing and crewing
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| We got the wild style, sorta catch you like the flu
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| And, yo I’m doing something to be praised
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| Getting party sorta crazed
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| In a frenzy, ya benzy
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| Gotta thank god for the style that I’m feeding
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| 'Cause you’re needing every second of my record
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| You know I’m checking on the vocal apparatus
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| The status gets large like Marg as I charge
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| The head of the class, bust that ass
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| Doubt my clout? |
| Come on kid, get your peoples
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| I’ll jump your whole crew with these, like they were steeples
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| But chill, I even groove smooth to the elevator tunes
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| With my coons, we get wicked
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| I’ll kick it with my nigga Buddy Slim
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| Sugar Shadow, Dj Essence
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| You gotta feel the presence
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| Of the beats and the
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| And you don’t stop
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| Check
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| Check |