[b***erfly]
Smooth to the ooze came b***er
Try to gank my style and I'll hip you to the heater
At the speed of bop grew the hard rock
You can ask my dads Chairman Mao comrades
Squattin' at they pads
Diggin' on the jazz that's the half of it
Uncle Sam showed us all his s***e we refuted it
Told him that ghetto is the aim, let go of my brain
Then we changed your boogie 'cause your boogie had to change
[Ladybug]
Caught a fat chat with a cat where I'm from
Flipping mad tracks on a love child Nickel Bag
Ah Mecca much jive and a jazz touch
With a straight no chase, a Dig Plan erase
s***** an acid insect changed her dialect
{Kept it}
Mr. Doodlebug come tight with a ticket
Said we couldn't drip it
Came in and we kicked it with a glass of water on the rocks
Nip it
[Doodlebug]
Jazz, in the last 5 years has progressed in its fits
and starts of sudden discoveries and
startled reactions. New principles, new sounds,
new rhythms and harmonies have been advanced with unusual frequency.
Not surprisingly, many of the younger musicians have been quietly digesting
this information almost as quiuckly as it has appeared.
As a result, they've acquired a degree of
musical sophistication which supersedes many of the previous standards of excellence.
So it's no longer especially relevant to ask the young saxophone player,
for example, to demonstrate his ability by running through all the Charlie Parker licks.
[Ladybug]
Come little hoods peep out the eyelids
Stash a fat gat 'cause the loops let you dig
With a Bloom Swoon and a Full Moon
Mecca Bug no fake takes we let alone baits
Pitchin' up your cakes might cause a horn rush but then a bass flush
Meta more emphasis as I trip this b***er bug pour it out the mouth
[b***erfly]
O.K. floater to the order don't we wreck before we split
From the chaos came the fattest little s***
By the soak of it at the point of hammer click
You could either read a little Marx or hang with Spiddyocks
When the bass faces fix the deepest cuts they're the sickest
Then we just make you think you boomed with a quickness
This is what's the haps when I go to do my smack
'Cause the word got around about three cool cats
(ISHMAEL BUTLER,/MARY ANN VIEIRA)
Lyrics ©1993 EMI Music Publishing
Smooth to the ooze came b***er
Try to gank my style and I'll hip you to the heater
At the speed of bop grew the hard rock
You can ask my dads Chairman Mao comrades
Squattin' at they pads
Diggin' on the jazz that's the half of it
Uncle Sam showed us all his s***e we refuted it
Told him that ghetto is the aim, let go of my brain
Then we changed your boogie 'cause your boogie had to change
[Ladybug]
Caught a fat chat with a cat where I'm from
Flipping mad tracks on a love child Nickel Bag
Ah Mecca much jive and a jazz touch
With a straight no chase, a Dig Plan erase
s***** an acid insect changed her dialect
{Kept it}
Mr. Doodlebug come tight with a ticket
Said we couldn't drip it
Came in and we kicked it with a glass of water on the rocks
Nip it
[Doodlebug]
Jazz, in the last 5 years has progressed in its fits
and starts of sudden discoveries and
startled reactions. New principles, new sounds,
new rhythms and harmonies have been advanced with unusual frequency.
Not surprisingly, many of the younger musicians have been quietly digesting
this information almost as quiuckly as it has appeared.
As a result, they've acquired a degree of
musical sophistication which supersedes many of the previous standards of excellence.
So it's no longer especially relevant to ask the young saxophone player,
for example, to demonstrate his ability by running through all the Charlie Parker licks.
[Ladybug]
Come little hoods peep out the eyelids
Stash a fat gat 'cause the loops let you dig
With a Bloom Swoon and a Full Moon
Mecca Bug no fake takes we let alone baits
Pitchin' up your cakes might cause a horn rush but then a bass flush
Meta more emphasis as I trip this b***er bug pour it out the mouth
[b***erfly]
O.K. floater to the order don't we wreck before we split
From the chaos came the fattest little s***
By the soak of it at the point of hammer click
You could either read a little Marx or hang with Spiddyocks
When the bass faces fix the deepest cuts they're the sickest
Then we just make you think you boomed with a quickness
This is what's the haps when I go to do my smack
'Cause the word got around about three cool cats
(ISHMAEL BUTLER,/MARY ANN VIEIRA)
Lyrics ©1993 EMI Music Publishing