We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
(“Hey, Cool Breeze!”)
Stern, firm, and young with a laid-back tongue
The aim is to succeed and achieve at 21
Just like Ringling Brothers, I’ll daze and astound
Captivate the mass, ’cause the prose was profound
Do it for the strong, we do it for the meek
Boom it in your, boom it in your, boom it in your Jeep
Or your Honda, or your Beamer, or your Legend, or your Benz
The rave of the town to your foes and your friends
So push it – along, trails – we blaze
Don’t deserve the gong, don’t deserve the praise
The tranquility will make you unball your fist
For we put Hip-Hop on a brand new twist
A brand new twist with a whole heap of mystic
So low-key that you probably missed it
And yet it’s so loud that it stands in the crowd
When the guy takes the beat, they bowed
So raise up, squire, adjust your attire
We have no time to wallow in the mire
If you’re on a foreign path, then let me do the lead
Join in the essence of the cool-out breed
Then cool out to the music, ’cause it makes you feel serene
With the birds and the bees and all those groovy things
Like getting stomach aches when you gotta go to work
Or staring into space when you’re feeling berserk
I don’t really mind if it’s over your head
‘Cause the job of resurrectors is to wake up the dead
So pay attention, it’s not hard to decipher
And after the horns, you can check out the Phifer
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, we got the jazz
Competition, dem try fi come side way
But competition, they must come straight way
Competition, dem try fi come side way
But competition, they must come straight way
How’s about that? It seems like it’s my turn again
All through the years, my mic has been my best friend
I know some brothers wonder, can Phife really kick it?
Some even wanna diss me, but why sweat it?
I’m all into my music, ’cause it’s how I make papes
Try to make hits like Kid Capri makes tapes
Me sweat another? I do my own thing
Strictly hardcore tracks, not a New Jack Swing
I grew up as a Christian, so to Jah, I give thanks
Collect my banks, listen to Shabba Ranks
I sing, and chat – I do all of that
It’s 1991 and I refuse to come wack
I take off my hat to other crews that tend to rock
But
The Low End Theory
‘s here, it’s time to wreck shop
I got Tip and Sha’ (
Huh
), so whom shall I fear? (
Word
)
Stop, look, and listen, but please don’t stare (Uh)
So jet to the store, and buy the LP (
Yeah
)
On Jive/RCA Cassettes and
CD’s
Produced and arranged by the four-man crew
And, oh shit,
Skeff Anselm
– he gets props too (
Ha-ha
)
Make sure you have a system with some fat house speakers (Yeah)
So the new shit can rock (
Uh
), from Bronx to Massapequa (
Uh
)
‘Cause where I come from – quality is job one
And everybody up on Linden know we
get the job done
So peace to that crew (Yeah), and peace to this crew (Yeah)
Bring on the tour, we’ll see you at a theater nearest you
Hey yo, but wait, back it up, hup, easy, back it up
Please let The Abstract embellish on the cut
“Back and Forth,” just like a Cameo song
If you dig this joint then please come dance along
To the music, ’cause it’s done just for the mind
Now I gotta scat and get mine, underline
The jazz, the what? The jazz can move that ass
For the Tribe originates that feeling of pizzazz
It’s the universal sound, bless the brothers on the ground
And the ones six below, you didn’t have to go
Some say that I’m eccentric, ’cause I once had an orgy
And sometimes for breakfast, I eat grits and porgies
If this is a stinker, then call me a skunk
I ask,
“What’s–” “funk?”
Now check it out
All my peoples in Queens, ya don’t stop
Now all my peoples in Brooklyn, ya don’t stop
And all my peoples Uptown, ya don’t stop
That includes The Bronx and Harlem, ya don’t stop
Now to that girl Ramelle, ya don’t stop
I said because “Ladies First,” ya don’t stop
And to the JB’s, ya don’t stop
And De La Soul, ya don’t stop
To my Brand Nubians, ya don’t stop
And to my Leaders Of The New, ya don’t stop
Uh, to my man Large Professor, ya don’t stop
Pete Rock for the beat, ya don’t stop
Everybody in the place, ya don’t stop
You keep it on, to the rhythm, ya don’t stop
And last, but not least, on the sure shot
It’s the Zulu Nation! Heh
[Outro:
The Dells sample
]
“Funk is as deep as an elephant’s trunk”
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