Last Poets
They call me Little Wille Armstrong Jones
Reach out for me baby. Reach out for me.
Cocaine lady, sweet lady, white lady, golden hair
Snow White down that flourishes across the waters
Cocaine lady, white outstreching hand softly caressing the white powder
Come on lady! Please Come. Across the waters, please come.
Let me bury my face in your palm of perfumes
I'm little Willie Armstrong Jones
Keepin time with the tappin of my feet and the rhythym of my hands, extension sticks that rain down on my bucket skins. And sometimes, when hurricanes dance inside me I blow my spirit though a horn reaching out for a note that cries, "Yeah Little Willies bad!"
Watch me grind against the wall with a chick called death. In the room with all my friends, everybody grinds.
Serpents crawl the walls, serpents spit and mumble.
And after Allah, after Jehovah, after the guru lies the truth.
And the truth is god on a white horse riding inside you, over you, under you.
Everything living is dying. After the dying is the rotting. After the Rotting is the greeness of grass and the fullness of trees but thou shalt not know it, for thou shalt be dead. Yeeeehah. Yeeeeehah.
Cocaine Lady, sweet lady, the black flies flutter around, feed off, suck off, grow lean and die off.
Please come! Please come! Cause I'm Little Willie Armstrong Jones. Have mercy. Dancing on the edge of a knife.
And when I dance, my teeth grin and my hands fly.
But sometimes they freak off into siamese twins, while a .38 jams hard between my ribs, while black and irish fingers move up and down my limbs. Hell what they lookin for?
Cops on your momma if she could have flushed you instead of had you.
What you gonna in 50 years, your habit, but I don't worry cause it's all about death.
Reach out for me baby. Reach out for me.
And when I'm empty, I freeze inside and burn outside and the winds be freezin and I be sweatin and God be lookin down wonderin why I ain't observin this weather.
And I look up at God, eh babe, with the green poison trickling down my legs and the sides of my lips gone purple and I say, "Everythings cool! Don't worry bout a thing. I got it all covered and it's all about death."
Cocaine lady, please come! Please come!
"Turn on some blues!" I heard Spoon yellin.
It took me a long time to find out my mistake.
Betcha my bottom dollar I'm not fattening frogs for snakes.
I don't worry. I don't worry about a damn thing. I'm gonna tell you why.
Outta my need to stay alive I got a brand new economics.
Right now I'm shackin with the cocaine lady, have mercy! And she keeps my habit fed.
You see, she used to keep watch over maggots that used to keep watch over her daddy, but now he's gone, so now she keeps watch over me, have mercy!
No, I don't worry. I don't worry about nothin.
But look here baby, next time you fall down on your knees and look up to the almighty, say a little prayer.
Tell him to reach out for me.
Reach out for me.
They call me Little Wille Armstrong Jones
Reach out for me baby. Reach out for me.
Cocaine lady, sweet lady, white lady, golden hair
Snow White down that flourishes across the waters
Cocaine lady, white outstreching hand softly caressing the white powder
Come on lady! Please Come. Across the waters, please come.
Let me bury my face in your palm of perfumes
I'm little Willie Armstrong Jones
Keepin time with the tappin of my feet and the rhythym of my hands, extension sticks that rain down on my bucket skins. And sometimes, when hurricanes dance inside me I blow my spirit though a horn reaching out for a note that cries, "Yeah Little Willies bad!"
Watch me grind against the wall with a chick called death. In the room with all my friends, everybody grinds.
Serpents crawl the walls, serpents spit and mumble.
And after Allah, after Jehovah, after the guru lies the truth.
And the truth is god on a white horse riding inside you, over you, under you.
Everything living is dying. After the dying is the rotting. After the Rotting is the greeness of grass and the fullness of trees but thou shalt not know it, for thou shalt be dead. Yeeeehah. Yeeeeehah.
Cocaine Lady, sweet lady, the black flies flutter around, feed off, suck off, grow lean and die off.
Please come! Please come! Cause I'm Little Willie Armstrong Jones. Have mercy. Dancing on the edge of a knife.
And when I dance, my teeth grin and my hands fly.
But sometimes they freak off into siamese twins, while a .38 jams hard between my ribs, while black and irish fingers move up and down my limbs. Hell what they lookin for?
Cops on your momma if she could have flushed you instead of had you.
What you gonna in 50 years, your habit, but I don't worry cause it's all about death.
Reach out for me baby. Reach out for me.
And when I'm empty, I freeze inside and burn outside and the winds be freezin and I be sweatin and God be lookin down wonderin why I ain't observin this weather.
And I look up at God, eh babe, with the green poison trickling down my legs and the sides of my lips gone purple and I say, "Everythings cool! Don't worry bout a thing. I got it all covered and it's all about death."
Cocaine lady, please come! Please come!
"Turn on some blues!" I heard Spoon yellin.
It took me a long time to find out my mistake.
Betcha my bottom dollar I'm not fattening frogs for snakes.
I don't worry. I don't worry about a damn thing. I'm gonna tell you why.
Outta my need to stay alive I got a brand new economics.
Right now I'm shackin with the cocaine lady, have mercy! And she keeps my habit fed.
You see, she used to keep watch over maggots that used to keep watch over her daddy, but now he's gone, so now she keeps watch over me, have mercy!
No, I don't worry. I don't worry about nothin.
But look here baby, next time you fall down on your knees and look up to the almighty, say a little prayer.
Tell him to reach out for me.
Reach out for me.