Last Of The Spiddyocks

(album: Reachin' (A New Refutation Of Time And Space) - 1993)

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 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 laying 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 pulling off the plates
Maybe only we was hip to stretching 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 dying young
It's like, cool was the bop and the flair
I kicks to my pools by the nap of the hair
I'm pinning Uncle Sam for the death of swinging quotes
For losing Bud Powell sliding 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 laying 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 using space in Afro Blue
It's simple, swing be the freaking of the time
The spinning by the kings good for speaking 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 coming booming out that trunk
Assuming 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 filling up the room
When Booker jam with Eric at the funky five spot
Jimmy Cob's job was laying 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 digging how these dudes made my buzz a little hipper
And angles on the moves really couldn't get no blacker
I'm sinking deep to the sleekness of the horn
I'm thinking take the hipness and just lay it in my form
So when the hoodlums flood waiting for another anthem
I say it's in the blood cause it ain't nothing 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