Original Song: Lords Of Flatbush
I’m pushing my luck so far this month as Lords Of Flatbush isn’t actually a fresh original song – it’s been around for a few years – but I have recorded it properly over the past few days. Even now I’m not too sure about it as it’s probably the most incomplete song I’ve posted – at least it feels that way to me. The first time I recorded it the vocals sounded as bad as I think I’ve ever sung – and this version isn’t a whole heap better. I just can’t seem to get it, but it’s reached the point where I’m just tossing it out there regardless. It makes me think this is a song destined to be played by a band – with a different singer!
This was written one night in New York after catching up with my friend Sam Barclay (it must be Sam’s month given the last song I posted was co-written by him!). He was living in Brooklyn at the time and was telling me that they had run a poll in a local paper about what the New Jersey Nets should be called when they moved their basketball team to Brooklyn. Both he and I felt that the Brooklyn Lords Of Flatbush would have been the best name ever!
The lyrics also refer to some of the legends of the New York street basketball scene, and the court at West 4th Street where some of the toughest street ball in the world is played (and a place where I once played a few years back, fulfilling a long held dream).
Nothing too special with the recording of this one – the guitar parts used my trusty Taylor T5 with a bunch of different amp sims and effects.
So there you go. It’s still not the “proper” original song for April – that’s underway – but it is what it is 😉
THE LORDS OF FLATBUSH
© 2008 Chuck Smeeton
The Lords of Flatbush sing a different song
Asphelt kings, the quick, the strong
They got game, they know the deal
The Lords of Flatbush keep it real
The Pearl, the Goat, the ‘Copter flies
Invisible to the scouting eye
Banished plays on crumbling tar
The playground star, the future far
Hear the call
The Lords of Flatbush play
Fake it, break it, sing the tune
Walk it, talk it, pack the room
Swing it, wing it, go to the dance
Shake it, bake it, take a chance
The ring of holy matrimony
No net to catch those falling free
The boundary marked, the cage enclosed
Weaknesses fatel and crudely exposed
An exclusive club for the chosen few
Who reign supreme having paid their due
No blood, no foul, no game, no play
A focal point for those who stray