| Bowl of cheerios gripped up in my left hand
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| Balling like Lebron, but I’m less tan, sweating no headband
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| Undercover X-man, posers I hex them
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| Hear your shit, I treat it like my bitch, onto the next jam
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| Just kidding, I treat my bitches with respect
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| Talking politics to boys while they’re kissing on my neck
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| I’m Lex Luther, Carlos Boozer
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| You wear your laces loose I rock my nikes looser
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| The booster seats where I reside, puffing Mary J, bumpin Mary J Blige
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| And I might go psycho when the mic goes in my hand
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| Take my Flintstones vitamins
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| Fixed gear bike I’m cycling
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| Yeah I when I come in you see me stomping taters
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| More popular than gefilte fish at a seder
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| My calculators TI-89, you’re stuck on 83
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| While you all wait in line, I’m on that VIP
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| Feeling me moving the earth by millimeters with my words
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| Fuck what you heard verses tighter than Ernie and Bert
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| Dudes and girls they’re lifting their shirts when they see me
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| That’s one of the perks, I’m basically the lady who merks
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| Everything in sight I’m going berserk
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| You dummies slower than molasses, I’m cutting classes
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| As is I earned a perfect grade point average
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| You’re up to bat I’m Greg Maddux, si yo estoy
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| Making every boys package happy call me almond joy
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| Sharp shooter aim impeccable, roll with Dewey decimal
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| The dopest animal from here to Senegal
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| Flow so menstrual I need a tampon on the track
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| Got a couple bars to kill it and some monkeys on my back
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| I must admit I’m just a bit custom fitted
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| Check this shit who wants to hit it
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| Who am I kidding, everyone up in this city wanna get it
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| Don’t need a sidekick
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| People treat my style like retainer molds and bite it
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| Smoking, soaking up sun you think I’m done I’ve just begun
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| Giant on the mic they’re calling me Paul Bunyan
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| Yakking on some purp' and sipping on some soda
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| Tell me that I’m fresh I’m like no duh |