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