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The room was dark, dusk howling softly 6 o'clock |
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Charcoal light, the fine sight was moving black |
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The sound was music mellow steady flow |
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And man son mind just mystic red, green, red, green, your scene |
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No man would dance but leap and shake |
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That sharp through feeling right |
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Shape that sound, tumbling down |
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Making movement, ruff enuff |
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'Cos when the music met I-tops |
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I felt this thing, knew the shock, yeah, had to do and ride the rock |
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Outta this rock shall come a greener rhythm |
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Even more dread than what the breeze of glory bred |
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Vibrating violence is our only move |
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Rocking with green rhythm |
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The drought and dry root out |
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The mighty poet I roy was on the wire |
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Weston did a skank and each man laugh and feeling irie |
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Dread I street 66, the sad man said, any policeman come here |
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Will get some righteous, raasclot licks, yeah mon, whole heapa licks |
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Hours beat, the scene moving right, when all on a sudden |
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Bam, bam, bam, a knocking upon the door |
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"Who is that?", asked Weston, feeling right |
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"Open up, it's the police, come on, open up" |
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"What address do you want?" |
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"Number 66, come on, open up" |
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Weston, feeling high, replied |
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"Yes, this is street 66, step right in and take some licks" |
