Wayne&Wax: Boston Jerk Lyrics

boston jerk | sexy jesus | bigger than biggie | highest grade | soggae

(check the "play" section at wayneandwax.com to listen to the tracks below, or buy a copy of boston jerk)

boston jerk
lyrics by wayne marshall
music by wayne&wax

rhyme kickin', more jamaican than kentucky-fried chicken,
the boston jerk.
so sexy, the girls dem follow me with aspirin and pepsi,
the boston jerk.
soon come, and when i do i'll be sweeter than a june plum,
the boston jerk.
hey hey hey, i don't play play, so nuh give me none of that ray ray,
the boston jerk.

wha gwaan?
time to log on
to my sound like progress,
but still bun babylon.
yes, i travel on.
i spent six months in kingston
this spring and
then i had to paddle on.
it's complex, the context,
flex a little muscle on deck
with my carved wooden object
i bought in ochi.
you know me,
i flow free
and try to know tree
from tree like a julie
from a number 11--
just tryna make the best selection
when i'm chillin' in mango heaven.
back in jamaica, i'd link my bredren,
we'd break bread and
have ourselves a freestyle session.
definitely gettin' through,
i'm bettin' you
you're gonna feel what we set for you,
but now mek me do
a likkle ting for the truth and the youth dem
my whole crew dem,
but not the blue suit dem.
then again, it doesn't matter if you're either
an otaheiti apple or an etioti eater,
red label wine or an 'ot guiness drinker,
rockin' your prada or a mesh marina:
the primary aim is to reach ya'
teach ya' a likkle somethin',
featurin' wayne on the drum and
waxin' poetic.
don't forget it.
havin' or takin'?
i'm that jerk actin' jamaican.

see-me-a-say and up-to-the-time,
everyting criss when i run with a rhyme.
everytime i drop a-
nother banger it's clear
i'm a real top-a-toppa,
y'ear?
so ease yourself;
don't disease yourself.
boom-a-drop, you dun know i only mean to help.
yo papine to hel-
shire, TVJ to RETV,
hope road to TG,
bobo spice to kiki:
you see me.
believe me,
i wouldn't lie, g,
but other times you can find me
out at lime key.
and if you wanna come meet me take the ferry,
leavin' from the foot of princess [street] about ev'ry
hour or two,
and if you do,
bring a cold jelly:
i'm so very
thirsty
that would surely cure me.
i'd even take a cold malta.
anything
to bring
the heat off this scotch-bonnet salsa.
and i don't mean to involve ya
in the mundane details of my life, but i swear of all the
things in the world that i thought i had to see--
from grand canyon to paris gallery--
one sight that i could do without has to be
goin' over mt.rassa in a bus named "reality"
(which is better than "head mash up" or "it wasn't me,"
still, i felt like there was very little under me).
luckily,
there were nuff people in the bus with me
to help break my fall in case we should suddenly
tip over, but the thought alone made my stomach be
too jumpy to comfortably
hold my bun&cheese.
raatid! enough of these!
--but just one more (please!)
about the way that i have to live:
ca' now i use the word "wicked" as an adverb and an adjective,
so "that's wicked wicked, man," if it's an example that i have to give.

hey yo, the sign says, "no pissin',"
so if i catch you by the wall you might go missin'.
i might have to tell your friends they better go fishin'.
no, no--i'm only kiddin'.
for real, man: no friction.
this here's a body and soul mission,
plus the mind... [fade out on freestyle]

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bigger than biggie
lyrics by wayne marshall
music by wayne&wax

i wanna be...
bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.
bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.

when i step in the session,
blessin' mics and pressin'
envelopes, i'm guessin'
i'm the answer to the question
of "who rock?"
gettin'
straight to the heart of the matter,
i have to ask ya
if you think i'm blacker
than eminem sportin' a do-rag?
woops--i mean do-rag,
but true dat, you knew that
i'm poison sumac,
scratchin' at tracks until they blue-black.
gotcha askin' "who's that
new jack?
actin' like he can do that
while rappin' thugs keep flashin' new gats?
he might get sued, ac-
tually, or made a casualty
within an industry
that viciously
recycles tragedy.
we need to bring the troops back:
mount up the cavalry!
spread the truth that
it's about more than a salary.
the battery's the drum, the melody becomes my tool as
i casually deliver words to hook you like some new crack.
the fallacy
is that one has to be
a thug to do rap.
you'd have to be a fool
to just say "cool,"
and go consume that
new crap
they put on the shelves,
but, still, probably
you're coppin' 3
or 4 copies once it's poppin' on the street.
you rap along
to some dapper don
singin' "follow me,"
but--shame!--
when you try to spit game,
you do it awkwardly.
who thought the sweetest words
you've ever heard
would be on CD?
well, thank god almighty for this brave new economy.
no rapper's ever really gonna teach you how to rob, you see,
but still ask me, i'll tell you honestly,
i wanna be...

bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.
bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.

i'm not a player, i just lie a lot,
look to the sky a lot,
claim that i'm ready to die a lot.
i'm curious as to whether you think it's fine or not
for hip-hop and hollywood to go ahead and tie the knot?
i hope you don't say, "nope,"
'cause if you do, you'll be the dope
that missed the fact that they already eloped.
so now we cope
with the situation:
hear some bullshit on the radio and quick switch the station.
i miss the innovation.
i miss the days when
i thought things would change when
hip-hop finally hit the nation.
but now the opposition feels like capitulation,
with all the rappers sayin', "gotta, gotta get the bacon."
and i'm not into fakin',
but these days there's no choice between being real and so-called playa hatin'.
that's such a false relation.
that's like a rapper claimin'
through his cliches that he actually is makin' statements.
to praise the penthouse, of late we just forsake the basement.
and with no balance, i'm afraid we're gonna get complacent.
what ever happened to rappin' 'bout some race shit?
what ever happened to rappin' in good taste? shit.
it's such an oddity.
can it be that possibly
all that's on TV
is artists who lack autonomy?
fuck what it gotta be.
i'm 'bout what it oughta be:
my own private odyssey.
that's why i wanna be...

bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.
bigger than biggie,
deader than tupac,
more senseless than 50,
but smarter than you, ak.

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highest grade
lyrics by wayne marshall, marvin clark, and damion watson
music by wayne&wax

[dami:]
highest grade, a weh me wan' inna the camp now,
highest grade, a weh me blaze, me nuh go ram now,
highest grade, a weh me blaze everyday,
babylon dem haffi 'fraid when dem see my crew a blaze, me say...

[wasp:]
fi' burn weed, yeah, that a the basic.
get high up inna the sky like a mini-spaceship.
inna the miggle of the square, desa man a blaze it.
babylon wan' take my herb, me shift them up like matrix.
yes. scientist, you know me a the greatest,
experiment inna the lab, weed deh inna me chis.
love the weed more than how you kids love banana chips,
onion bits, fruit cake, and a pack of butterkiss. so what?

[dami:]
me say a just the other night me make a flex
inna a jeep lex i smoke good ganja ses.
when me reach pon the base a be high grade pon the ends.
as me look 'round the corner yo me see me weed friends.
and, yo, dem nuh bun no coke, dem nuh bun no crems,
dem nuh bun no cigarette, no shags, nor no blems.
it's all about the high grade--bush weed me condemn,
that's a me big up all the man dem from cassia park ends.
so me sing again...

[wayne:]
now listen, wayne&wax, and lemme tell you one ting:
when it come to high grade, a jamaican roots thing,
and everywhere we go we know the routine.
now, hold on, wait a minute, yo, that was two things.
but nevermind, forget it, yo, here's a third thing:
me cyaan take too much bush weed, the worst thing.
we a real herbalist, we nuh trouble nuh seasoning
that's a we link up bobo spice and get a bag of the best thing.

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soggae (fine by me)
lyrics by wayne marshall
music by rebecca nesson and wayne&wax

yallo!
what you get when you cross soca and reggae?
soggae? so-gay?
hmmm...you don't say?
well, i'm here to say it's ok
if that's your way.
see-me-a-say?

step up in the club, what's happenin'?
hands in the air, all clappinin'
who's that man there, rappinin'?
wayne&wax on the track, attackinin'.

nuff cars in the lot still backin' in
dancefloor too full, the way they pack 'em in
still the music sound sweet like sacharine
and my whole body says, yes, back again.

so i step to the floor and move side to side
lookin' for my friends i've been tryna find
smoke, mirrors, and lights make me kinda blind
movin' through the couples as they wine and grind.

and, yup, guess what? from time to time
i see a man dancin' handsome with a man behind
they both look happy, so i ask why mind?
'cause it's fine by me and it's fine by mine.

[chorus]

it's okay, if it's soggae
fine by me if it's yo' way
and i don't play,
but youknomesayin'?
lotta different riddims make my jones sway.

it's okay, if it's soggae
fine by me if it's yo' way
if you like that type of thing,
that's fine by me.

[verse 2]

nuff times when i go to a stage-show
i see the artists tryna make the crowd say "ho"
they say, "scream if you nuh like it in your a-hole"
but cyaan see that the style is fuckin' played, yo.

i know a lotta y'all jus' want to get paid, though
and if you want a forward that's the easy way, so
you come with the same shit everyday, bro
but that's not the type of shit that i rate, yo.

your presentation's just not so tasteful
you lack spit like a skit on the late show
you act stiff tryna get so straight, bro
you big-up the very thing you claim to hate, yo.

but don't just take my word ca' i say so,
ca' i know you cyaan hear what i'm sayin', so
take the actions of the massive that faithful-
ly shake their asses to the strains of soggae, so...

[chorus: see above]

[verse 3]

boom-bye-bye in a batty-bwoy nuthin'
switch it up on the ignorant all of a sudden
cyaan stand all the homophobe huffin' and puffin'
can't you see there's a sameness in the sufferin'?

i know a lot of people want to seem all rough and
tough and that's why you act like a thug and
claim you'll kill, but a lotta y'all are bluffin'
half the time, you'd get your ass-kicked, cousin.

so, chill, don't get yourself hotter than an oven
or step to the wrong long-dong love-muffin
some of y'all are clearly deep down buggin'
and can't stand it's your man that you're lovin'.

that's why with the loudest i must suspect somethin'
make a whole lotta ruckus to avoid a witch-huntin'
can i see more respect and a lot less judgin'?
what's the deal? for real, they only fuckin'.

[chorus: see above]

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(check the "play" section at wayneandwax.com to listen to the tracks above, or buy a copy of boston jerk)