Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Last Of The Spiddyocks, artist - Digable Planets. Album song Reachin' (A New Refutation Of Time And Space), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1992
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
Last Of The Spiddyocks |
I’m blue mood y’all, I slive with jive 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 too |
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 Flatbush 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 times 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 like 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 the 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 sunshine 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, you’s 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 ain’t nothin' 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 |