Luyện nghe bài hát Last Of The Spiddyocks

I'm blue mood yall, I with jiva yall
I'm actually deep yall, invented yall
In ten fourths yall, I pay your cap
I player late yall and down to

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

The been good like a sweet
I hang out with a gang out flat bush with beats
I found the shout was goddamn
And 'bout the methods how the Planets made jam

Wallowed through a a murk in the interim
I couple we got jerked but still invented them
Wicked little joints that got us ghetto weight
And also kept the alive by pullin' off the plates

Maybe we was hip to stretchin' out the brain
I felt Parker when I shot it in my vein
I these major losses on the Mingus jazzy strum
Flip off into a nod and dig myself a dyin'

Its like was the bop and the flair
I kicks to my by the nap of their hair
I'm Uncle Sam for the death of swingin' quotes
For losin' Bud Powell slidin' over Dizzy's

Was it that the rebirth was the birth for new shit, of cool
The jazz power from the crew was sure legit
But hey, since gone Hank Mo's gone
They kill the coolest breeze in land of the free

And it been like that since lied about they flag
Like all my main mans gave they up for skags
So I pops it at your crew Bu I did a lid
But I used Lee's Cooker got my buzz midnight

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

The seasons smooth like the suede
that butter got when butter got paid
Or better yet Dolphy's for cool dudes
Or better still Trane usin' space in blue

Its simple, be the freakin' of the time
The spinnin' by the kings good for speakin' of the
The forty seven sessions gave the buzzes that I
They asked was it cool blues
(What you thought?)

I 'em it was solid, dig, the licks was way out
My baby loves to kiss Ornette just lays out
So the be as such bout the kits, uh
You down Digable Planets yous a hipster, shit

I lay it on the cats monk
The logical extensions comin' boomin' out trunk
Assumin' that the in which you zooms designed by your mind
Not the stars and but red Cali? booms
And the by Max or Philly Joe on we go

The fly shit yall, we dont yall
Its slick beats and its out there
A groove kid, the jive is high yall
We marks yall okay pow me up

Uh, the been fat like some boom
math jazz fillin' up the room
When Booker jam with at the funky five spot
Jimmy Cob's job was layin' on the top

Butter cop his lid at this Harlem jam
The tenor bop the and his shades and his tam
I'm diggin' how dudes made my buzz a little hipper
And angles on the moves really couldnt get no

I'm sinkin' deep to the sleekness of the
I'm thinkin' take the and just lay it in my form
So when the hoodlums waitin' for another anthem
I say its in the blood it notin' but rhythm

And rhythm goes on and on to the of moon, baby
The dads is but they used to come lovely
The sickness towards the worlds cause Sam the blues
But hipness takes a and jams by my crew

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