Jazz (Live)

Yo, check this out (yo)
How many of y'all remember that other joint, uh, with the fine lady, with the fine African colors?
It's called "The Low End Theory?"
Well, we're gonna hit y'all with something, another track off of there, and it's kinda like, jazzy, you know, like

We got the jazz, we got the jazz
We got the jazz, I tell you we got the jazz
We got the jazz, and you 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 but my seat is profound
We do it for the strong, we do it for the meek
We 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 this shit 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
I said 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 nigga take the beat, I said they bow
Please up squire, adjust your attire
We have no time to wallow in the mire
If you're on a foreign path, 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 stomachaches when you gotta go to work
Or staring into space when you're feeling berserk
I said "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
After the horns, you can check out the Phifer

You got the jazz, you got the jazz
You got the jazz, you got the jazz
You got the jazz, you got the jazz
You got the jazz, you got the jazz

Competition dem try fe come side way
De competition they must come straight way
De competition dem try fe come side way
De 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, yo king don't 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 a "Thanks"
Collect my bank, listen to Shabba Ranks
I sing, chat, do all of that
It's 1998, mothefucker, call me "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, so whom shall I fear?
Stop, look and listen, but please don't stare
So jet to the store, pick up the LP
On Jive, RVE, cassettes and CD's
Produced and arranged by the four-man crew
And oh shit, Chicago, ya know you get props too
Make sure you have a system with some fat house speakers
So the new shit can rock, from here to Massapequa
'Cause where I come from quality is job one
Everybody up on Linden know we get the job done
So peace to that crew, and peace to you too
We on a tour, see you at a goddamn shoot

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 my singing, 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 my niggas on the ground
And the ones six below, you didn't have to go