キー: F major
Intro 1
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F#m
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F#m
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F#m
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F#m
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F#m
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Verse 1
Verse 2
season's been good like a sweet
I hang out with a gang out Flatbush
with cool beats
I foun the reverberated shout was
"god damn"
And questions about the methods
how the Planets made jams
Wallowed through a gang
of mirk in the interim
A couple of times we got jerked but
still invented them
Wicked litle kick it joints that got us
ghetto wheight
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 a
Mingus jazzy strum
Flip off into a nod and dig myself
for dying young
It's like cool was the bop and the flair
I kicks it to my pools by the nap of the hair
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I'm pinning Uncle Sam for the
death of swinging quotes
over Dizzy's notes
of new shit or cool shit
The jazz power shower showed the
crew was sure legit
But hey presence is gone
in this land of the free
And it been like that since they
lied about they flag
Like all my main man's
gave their beats up for skag
So I pops it at your crew like Bu I did a lid
But I use Lee's Cooker I got my
buzz around midnight
Verse 3
Verse 4
(lyrics not printed)
D
[Ladybug]
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
It's simple
Swing be the freakin' of the time
The spinning by the King's
good for speaking of the mind
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D
The 47 sessions gave the
buzzes that I caught
blues Knowledge
{What you thought?}
Gm
D
I told them it was solid, dig,
uh
{You down with Digable Planets
you is a hipster, shit}
G
D
I lay it on the cats about Monk
The logical extensions coming
booming out that trunk
F#m
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Assuming that the room in which you
zoom's designed by your mind,
not the stars and stripes
But Red Callis booms and the rat-
a- tat- tat by Max or Philly Joe
Verse 5
On we go
D
{all together}
printed)
Verse 6
D
[Doodlebug]
The season's been fat like some
boom
Doodlebugs math jazz fillin gup the room
When Booker jammed with
Eric at the funky 5 spot
And Jimmy Cob's job was
laying crashes on the top
Butter cops his lid at this little Harlem jam
The tenor bopped the middle in his
shades and his tam
I'm digging how these dudes made my
buzz a little hipper
I'm sinking deep to the
slickness 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 the
youth still come lovely
The sickness towards the world
when Sam caused the blues
But hipness takes a swirl
in jams by my crew
Verse 7
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