Jazz (We've Got It) Songtext
von A Tribe Called Quest

We′ve got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We've 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 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 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 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, 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 ya feel serene
With 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 ya feelin′ 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


We′ve got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We've got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We′ve got the jazz
We've got the jazz

Competition, them Phifer come sideway
But competition, they mus′ come straightway
Competition, them Phifer come sideway
But competition, they mus' come straightway
How′s about that, it seems like it's my turn again
Althrough the years my mic has been my best friend
I know some brothers wonder, can Phifer 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
Tryin′ to make hits, like Kid Capri mixtapes
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 or RCA, cassettes and CD′s
Produced and arranged by the four-man crew
And oh shit, Skeff 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 Massapequot
'Cause 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 theater nearest you

Ayo but wait, back it up, huh, 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 'cause it's done just for the rhyme
Now I gotta scat and get mine, underlined

The jazz, the what? The jazz to move that ass
′Cause the Tribe originates that feelin′ of pizazz
It's the universal sound, best to brothers on the ground
And the ones six below, ya didn′t have to go
Some say that I'm a sinner ′cause 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
"Whas-whas-what" 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 an' 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