Hey cats,
it's four o in the morning. I just left the
V -Disc
Studios.
Here we are in
Harlem.
Everybody's here but the police,
and they'll be here any minute.
It's high time.
So catch this song.
Here it is.
Baby, baby, what is the matter with you?
Ain't nothin' wrong with me,
babes, nothin' at all.
Baby, baby,
what is the matter with you?
One never knows, do one.
You got the world in a jar.
Yeah, but where's the stopper?
And you've got nothin' to do.
Do you hear that,
She's al ways layin' it on me.
You know, I always told you,
you'd be the death of me.
And when I'm always with you,
I get the third degree, that ain't right.
Ah, tell these fools anything
but tell me the truth.
Oh, that ain't right at all.
What's wrong with it?
What's wrong with it?
Yes, you're taking all my money and
going out having yourself a ball.
Baby, I was born ballin' and I'm
gon na ball the rest of my life.
I took you to a nightclub,
I bought you pink champagne.
That's right.
You rode home in a taxi while I
caught that subway train.
Hey, hey.
That ain't right.
Oh, that's all right, baby.
That's just a slight skit.
that ain't right at all.
Oh, that's all right, baby.
That's all right with me, in fact.
That's you taking all my money
and going out having yourself a ball.
Oh, beef to me, mama, beef to me.
I don't like pork no how.
I went to a fortune teller.
Yeah?
And had my fortune told.
What'd she say?
She said you didn't love me.
All you wanted was my gold.
She was right.
How'd she know?
That ain't right.
Oh, it ain't right at all.
Everybody wants some gold, baby.
Yes, you're taking all my money.
And you're not having yourself a ball.
Suffer.
Suffer, excess baggage.
Suffer.
Yeah!