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Last Of The Spiddyocks Lyrics

"Last Of The Spiddyocks" was written by Butler, Ishmael R..
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"Last Of The Spiddyocks" was written by Butler, Ishmael R..
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I'm blue mood yall, I slive with jiva yall
I'm actually deep yall, invented time yall
In ten fourths yall, I pay your cap yall
I player late yall and draw down to

I bust raps yall, in love with naps yall
The sweet beats kid, I speak my thoughts yall
I wreck the break yall, dont trust the flag yall
I dig the birds yall, I'm layin' out now, yeah

The seasons 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

Its 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 yall, I'm hip to badge yall
From sector six, yeah and now and then too
I slows the trims yall and fades a fake now
I know the nat yall I'm layin' out yall, yeah

The seasons 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

Its 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 yall, we dont quit yall
Its slick beats here and its out there
A smooth groove kid, the jive is high yall
We aint marks yall okay pow me up

Uh, the seasons been fat like some boom
Doodlebugs 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 couldnt 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 its 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 worlds cause Sam caused the blues
But hipness takes a swirl and jams by my crew

Infect space yall, we swing time yall
Its like milk yeah, its like be bop
The new scat slips, oh shit, we got fly kicks
Its like jazz, uh, its like us now

Songwriters
Butler, Ishmael R.

Published by
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

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