The room was dark, dusk howling softly 6 o'clock
Charcoal light, the fine sight was moving black
The sound was music mellow steady flow
And man son mind just mystic
Red, green, red, green, your scene

No man would dance but leap and shake
That sharp through feeling right
Shape that sound, tumbling down
Making [bad word] enuff

'Cause when the music met I-tops
I felt the sting, knew the shock, yeah,
Had to do and ride the rock
Outta dis rock [bad word] a greener riddim
Even more dread than what the breeze of glory bred

Vibrating violence is our only move
Rocking with green rhythm
The drought and dry root out

The mighty poet I Roy was on the wire
Weston did a [bad word] and each man laugh and feeling irie
Dread I street 66, the said man said
Any [bad word] here will get some righteous,
Raasclot licks, yeah mon, whole heapa licks

Hours beat, the scene moving right, when all on a sudden
Bam, bam, bam, a knocking 'pon the door
"Who is dat?", aksed Weston, feeling right
"Open up, it's the [bad word] on, open up"
"What address do you want?"
"Number [bad word] on, open up"
Weston, feeling high, replied,
"Yes, this is Street 66, step right in and take some licks."