and you're acting like 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
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
But 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 (oh, oh)
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 Shah (huh), so whom shall I fear? (word)
Stop, look
