Lyrics Jazz (we got the) A Tribe Called Quest

Jazz (we got the)

Intro/Chorus We got the jazz [X4] Verse One: Q-Tip 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 is 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 Beemer 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 ya unball your fist For we put hip-hop on a brand new twist A brand new twist with the homie-alistic So low-key that ya probably missed it And yet it's so loud that it stands in the crowd When the guy takes the beat, they bowed So raise up squire, address 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 cuz it makes ya feel serene Like the birds and the bees and all those groovy things Like getting stomach aches when ya gotta go to work Or staring into space when you're feeling berserk I don't really mind if it's over your head Cuz 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 Chorus Verse Two: Phife Dawg Competition, dem Phifer come sideway But competition, dey mus' me come straightway Competition, dem Phifer come sideway But competition, dey mus' come straightway Hows about that, it seems like it's my turn again All through the years my mike has been my best friend I know some brothers wonder, can Phifer really kick it? Some even wanna dis me, but why sweat it? I'm all into my music cuz it's how I make papes Tryin' 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 intend 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, and buy the LP On Jive/RCA, cassettes and CD's Produced and arranged by the four-man crew And oh shit, Skiff Anselm, he gets props too Make sure you have a system with some phat house speakers So the new shit can rock, from Mars to Massapequa Cuz where I come from quality is job one And everybody up on Linden know we get the job done So peace to that crew, and peace to this crew Bring on the tour, we'll see you at a theatre nearest you Verse Three: Q-Tip 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 this joint then please come dance along To the music cuz it's done just for the rhyme Now I gotta scat and get mine, underline The jazz, the what? The jazz can move that ass Cuz the Tribe originates that feelin' of pizzazz It's the universal sound, best to brothers underground In the one-six below, ya didn't have to go Some say that I'm a sinner cuz I once had an orgy And sometimes for breakfast I eat grits and porgies If this is a stinker, then call me a stink, I ask "What? What? What?" - now check it out All my peoples in Queens ya don't stop Now all my peoples in Brooklyn ya don't stop And all my peoples uptown ya don't stop That includes the Bronx a' Harlem ya don't stop Now to that girl Ramelle ya don't stop I say because Ladies First ya don't stop And to the JB's, ya don't stop And De La Soul, ya don't stop To my Brand Nubians ya don't stop And to my Leaders of the New ya don't stop To my man Large Professor ya don't stop Pete Rock for the beat ya don't stop Everybody in the place ya don't stop Ya keep it on, to the rhythm, ya don't stop And last but not least on the sure shot It's the Zulu nation