| The room was dark
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| Dusk howling softly 6 o’clock
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| Charcoal light
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| The fine sight
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| 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
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| Your scene
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| No man would dance but leap and shake
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| That shock through feeling right
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| Shape that sound
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| Tumbling down
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| Making movement, ruff enuff
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| Cos when the music met I taps
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| I felt the sting, knew the shock, yeah, had to do and ride the rock
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| Outta dis rock shall come a greener riddim
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| Even more dread than what the breeze of glory bred
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| Vibrating violence is how wi 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
|
| Weston did a skank and each man laugh and feeling irie, dread I
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| Street 66, the said man said
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| Any policeman come here will get some righteous, raasclot licks
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| Yeah mon, whole heapa licks
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| Hours beat, the scene moving right
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| When all on a sudden
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| Bam, bam, bam, a knocking pon the door
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| «Who is dat?», aksed 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, «Yes, this is Street 66, step right in and
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| Take some licks.» |