Texty:
Drum Latin

clothes he wears It's just the hours he's been keepin' Ain't been doing too much sleeping They dyed his hair and hid his feathers And told him he was Latin

are pattin' Puttin' tempo in old Manhattan Everybody is out high hattin' Spreadin' rhythm around Everywhere you go trumpets are blarin' Drums and saxophones

PMS The street's a bloody mess, there ain't no EMF in sight My thoughts are to leave the slums I hustle with beats an' drums, not keys an' guns My feet

Through the dog-breath heat With her concertina spine And her ballerina feet Under a punishing sun Under a red and green umbrella Call her name and beat the drum

to isaiah The player, the pimp that mcs are risking You'll get decked like clay decked liston *bang* Where did the punch come from? Was it before, or after the drum

than cheap blue ink to rock it [Chorus 2X] Cause in the House Of The Rising Drum they all come You can vibe with the drum so strum or just hum With

world to listen ta Waitin at a red light, kentucky fried chicken in Low end theory tape in, bass crazy kickin in See this puerto rican latin chico rico

latin centuries And together, we'll show you how to improvise Reminicent of the wild style '75 'Cause it's the brothers on the mic occupyin' the drums

the top, now we make your body bop Motherfuckers, don?t sit and ponder 'Cause we come with no blutes, no blunders We keep it fat like Attila the Honda Latin