Song | Last Of The Spiddyocks |
Artist | Digable Planets |
Album | Reachin' (A New Refutation Of Time And Space) |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Digable Planets | |
I'm blue mood y?all, I slive with jiva y?all | |
I'm actually deep y?all, invented time y?all | |
In ten fourths y?all, I pay your cap y?all | |
I player late y?all and draw down to | |
I bust raps y?all, in love with naps y?all | |
The sweet beats kid, I speak my thoughts y?all | |
I wreck the break y?all, don?t trust the flag y?all | |
I dig the birds y?all, I'm layin' out now, yeah | |
The season?s been good like a sweet | |
I hang out with a gang out flat bush with cool beats | |
I found the reverberated shout was goddamn | |
And questions 'bout the methods how the Planets made jam | |
Wallowed through a gang a murk in the interim | |
I couple time we got jerked but still invented them | |
Wicked little kinky joints that got us ghetto weight | |
And also kept the jazz alive by pullin' off the plates | |
Maybe only we was hip to stretchin' out the brain | |
I felt Bird Parker when I shot it in my vein | |
I toss these major losses on the Mingus jazzy strum | |
Flip off into a nod and dig myself a dyin' young | |
It?s like cool was the bop and the flair | |
I kicks to my pools by the nap of their hair | |
I'm pinnin' Uncle Sam for the death of swingin' quotes | |
For losin' Bud Powell slidin' over Dizzy's notes | |
Was it that the rebirth was the birth for new shit, of cool shit | |
The jazz power showers from the crew was sure legit | |
But hey, present since gone Hank Mo's gone | |
They kill the coolest breeze in this land of the free | |
And it been like that since they lied about they flag | |
Like all my main mans gave they beats up for skags | |
So I pops it at your crew like Bu I did a lid | |
But I used Lee's Cooker got my buzz around midnight | |
I'm so shy y?all, I'm hip to badge y?all | |
From sector six, yeah and now and then too | |
I slows the trims y?all and fades a fake now | |
I know the nat y?all I'm layin' out y?all, yeah | |
The season?s been smooth like the suede | |
Pumas that butter got when butter got paid | |
Or better yet Dolphy's archetypes for cool dudes | |
Or better still Trane usin' space in afro blue | |
It?s simple, swing be the freakin' of the time | |
The spinnin' by the kings good for speakin' of the mind | |
The forty seven sessions gave the buzzes that I caught | |
They asked was it cool blues knowledge | |
(What you thought?) | |
I told 'em it was solid, dig, the licks was way out | |
My baby loves to kiss when Ornette just lays out | |
So the quotes be as such bout the kits, uh | |
You down with Digable Planets yous a hipster, shit | |
I lay it on the cats about monk | |
The logical extensions comin' boomin' out that trunk | |
Assumin' that the room in which you zooms designed by your mind | |
Not the stars and stripes but red Cali? booms | |
And the rat-a-tat-tat by Max or Philly Joe on we go | |
The fly shit y?all, we don?t quit y?all | |
It?s slick beats here and it?s out there | |
A smooth groove kid, the jive is high y?all | |
We ain?t marks y?all okay pow me up | |
Uh, the seasons been fat like some boom | |
Doodlebug?s math jazz fillin' up the room | |
When Booker jam with Eric at the funky five spot | |
Jimmy Cob's job was layin' crashes on the top | |
Butter cop his lid at this little Harlem jam | |
The tenor bop the middle and his shades and his tam | |
I'm diggin' how these dudes made my buzz a little hipper | |
And angles on the moves really couldn?t get no blacker | |
I'm sinkin' deep to the sleekness of the horn | |
I'm thinkin' take the hipness and just lay it in my form | |
So when the hoodlums flood waitin' for another anthem | |
I say it?s in the blood cause it notin' but rhythm | |
And rhythm goes on and on to the break of moon, baby | |
The dads is gone but they used to come lovely | |
The sickness towards the world?s cause Sam caused the blues | |
But hipness takes a swirl and jams by my crew | |
Infect space y?all, we swing time y?all | |
It?s like milk yeah, it?s like be bop | |
The new scat slips, oh shit, we got fly kicks | |
It?s like jazz, uh, it?s like us now |
zuo ci : Digable Planets | |
I' m blue mood y? all, I slive with jiva y? all | |
I' m actually deep y? all, invented time y? all | |
In ten fourths y? all, I pay your cap y? all | |
I player late y? all and draw down to | |
I bust raps y? all, in love with naps y? all | |
The sweet beats kid, I speak my thoughts y? all | |
I wreck the break y? all, don? t trust the flag y? all | |
I dig the birds y? all, I' m layin' out now, yeah | |
The season? s been good like a sweet | |
I hang out with a gang out flat bush with cool beats | |
I found the reverberated shout was goddamn | |
And questions ' bout the methods how the Planets made jam | |
Wallowed through a gang a murk in the interim | |
I couple time we got jerked but still invented them | |
Wicked little kinky joints that got us ghetto weight | |
And also kept the jazz alive by pullin' off the plates | |
Maybe only we was hip to stretchin' out the brain | |
I felt Bird Parker when I shot it in my vein | |
I toss these major losses on the Mingus jazzy strum | |
Flip off into a nod and dig myself a dyin' young | |
It? s like cool was the bop and the flair | |
I kicks to my pools by the nap of their hair | |
I' m pinnin' Uncle Sam for the death of swingin' quotes | |
For losin' Bud Powell slidin' over Dizzy' s notes | |
Was it that the rebirth was the birth for new shit, of cool shit | |
The jazz power showers from the crew was sure legit | |
But hey, present since gone Hank Mo' s gone | |
They kill the coolest breeze in this land of the free | |
And it been like that since they lied about they flag | |
Like all my main mans gave they beats up for skags | |
So I pops it at your crew like Bu I did a lid | |
But I used Lee' s Cooker got my buzz around midnight | |
I' m so shy y? all, I' m hip to badge y? all | |
From sector six, yeah and now and then too | |
I slows the trims y? all and fades a fake now | |
I know the nat y? all I' m layin' out y? all, yeah | |
The season? s been smooth like the suede | |
Pumas that butter got when butter got paid | |
Or better yet Dolphy' s archetypes for cool dudes | |
Or better still Trane usin' space in afro blue | |
It? s simple, swing be the freakin' of the time | |
The spinnin' by the kings good for speakin' of the mind | |
The forty seven sessions gave the buzzes that I caught | |
They asked was it cool blues knowledge | |
What you thought? | |
I told ' em it was solid, dig, the licks was way out | |
My baby loves to kiss when Ornette just lays out | |
So the quotes be as such bout the kits, uh | |
You down with Digable Planets yous a hipster, shit | |
I lay it on the cats about monk | |
The logical extensions comin' boomin' out that trunk | |
Assumin' that the room in which you zooms designed by your mind | |
Not the stars and stripes but red Cali? booms | |
And the ratatattat by Max or Philly Joe on we go | |
The fly shit y? all, we don? t quit y? all | |
It? s slick beats here and it? s out there | |
A smooth groove kid, the jive is high y? all | |
We ain? t marks y? all okay pow me up | |
Uh, the seasons been fat like some boom | |
Doodlebug? s math jazz fillin' up the room | |
When Booker jam with Eric at the funky five spot | |
Jimmy Cob' s job was layin' crashes on the top | |
Butter cop his lid at this little Harlem jam | |
The tenor bop the middle and his shades and his tam | |
I' m diggin' how these dudes made my buzz a little hipper | |
And angles on the moves really couldn? t get no blacker | |
I' m sinkin' deep to the sleekness of the horn | |
I' m thinkin' take the hipness and just lay it in my form | |
So when the hoodlums flood waitin' for another anthem | |
I say it? s in the blood cause it notin' but rhythm | |
And rhythm goes on and on to the break of moon, baby | |
The dads is gone but they used to come lovely | |
The sickness towards the world? s cause Sam caused the blues | |
But hipness takes a swirl and jams by my crew | |
Infect space y? all, we swing time y? all | |
It? s like milk yeah, it? s like be bop | |
The new scat slips, oh shit, we got fly kicks | |
It? s like jazz, uh, it? s like us now |
zuò cí : Digable Planets | |
I' m blue mood y? all, I slive with jiva y? all | |
I' m actually deep y? all, invented time y? all | |
In ten fourths y? all, I pay your cap y? all | |
I player late y? all and draw down to | |
I bust raps y? all, in love with naps y? all | |
The sweet beats kid, I speak my thoughts y? all | |
I wreck the break y? all, don? t trust the flag y? all | |
I dig the birds y? all, I' m layin' out now, yeah | |
The season? s been good like a sweet | |
I hang out with a gang out flat bush with cool beats | |
I found the reverberated shout was goddamn | |
And questions ' bout the methods how the Planets made jam | |
Wallowed through a gang a murk in the interim | |
I couple time we got jerked but still invented them | |
Wicked little kinky joints that got us ghetto weight | |
And also kept the jazz alive by pullin' off the plates | |
Maybe only we was hip to stretchin' out the brain | |
I felt Bird Parker when I shot it in my vein | |
I toss these major losses on the Mingus jazzy strum | |
Flip off into a nod and dig myself a dyin' young | |
It? s like cool was the bop and the flair | |
I kicks to my pools by the nap of their hair | |
I' m pinnin' Uncle Sam for the death of swingin' quotes | |
For losin' Bud Powell slidin' over Dizzy' s notes | |
Was it that the rebirth was the birth for new shit, of cool shit | |
The jazz power showers from the crew was sure legit | |
But hey, present since gone Hank Mo' s gone | |
They kill the coolest breeze in this land of the free | |
And it been like that since they lied about they flag | |
Like all my main mans gave they beats up for skags | |
So I pops it at your crew like Bu I did a lid | |
But I used Lee' s Cooker got my buzz around midnight | |
I' m so shy y? all, I' m hip to badge y? all | |
From sector six, yeah and now and then too | |
I slows the trims y? all and fades a fake now | |
I know the nat y? all I' m layin' out y? all, yeah | |
The season? s been smooth like the suede | |
Pumas that butter got when butter got paid | |
Or better yet Dolphy' s archetypes for cool dudes | |
Or better still Trane usin' space in afro blue | |
It? s simple, swing be the freakin' of the time | |
The spinnin' by the kings good for speakin' of the mind | |
The forty seven sessions gave the buzzes that I caught | |
They asked was it cool blues knowledge | |
What you thought? | |
I told ' em it was solid, dig, the licks was way out | |
My baby loves to kiss when Ornette just lays out | |
So the quotes be as such bout the kits, uh | |
You down with Digable Planets yous a hipster, shit | |
I lay it on the cats about monk | |
The logical extensions comin' boomin' out that trunk | |
Assumin' that the room in which you zooms designed by your mind | |
Not the stars and stripes but red Cali? booms | |
And the ratatattat by Max or Philly Joe on we go | |
The fly shit y? all, we don? t quit y? all | |
It? s slick beats here and it? s out there | |
A smooth groove kid, the jive is high y? all | |
We ain? t marks y? all okay pow me up | |
Uh, the seasons been fat like some boom | |
Doodlebug? s math jazz fillin' up the room | |
When Booker jam with Eric at the funky five spot | |
Jimmy Cob' s job was layin' crashes on the top | |
Butter cop his lid at this little Harlem jam | |
The tenor bop the middle and his shades and his tam | |
I' m diggin' how these dudes made my buzz a little hipper | |
And angles on the moves really couldn? t get no blacker | |
I' m sinkin' deep to the sleekness of the horn | |
I' m thinkin' take the hipness and just lay it in my form | |
So when the hoodlums flood waitin' for another anthem | |
I say it? s in the blood cause it notin' but rhythm | |
And rhythm goes on and on to the break of moon, baby | |
The dads is gone but they used to come lovely | |
The sickness towards the world? s cause Sam caused the blues | |
But hipness takes a swirl and jams by my crew | |
Infect space y? all, we swing time y? all | |
It? s like milk yeah, it? s like be bop | |
The new scat slips, oh shit, we got fly kicks | |
It? s like jazz, uh, it? s like us now |