Speak to Me Frankie Valentine Mix

Sweet Lord, Speak to me. Sweet Lord, Speak to me. Sweet Lord, speak To me. Sweet Lord, Speak to me. Sweet Lord, speak To me. Sweet Lord, Lord, speak To me. Sweet Lord, Speak to me. Sweet speak To me. I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deeper into this thing. The deeper go, the more knowledge I know what To sing, what to bring. What? I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deeper, deeper, deeper into the vibe. What? How? Chilling in the corner at the shelter all by Myself, checking it out. I'm not dancing no more, but why? Why? Why? What? How on earth are you supposed to vibe around The fake ones, the wum, the ones that say They know what is what, but they don't know What is what. They just strut. What the fuck? What? I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deeper into this thing, And I pretend that they're not there. I just stare Up in the booth at the dread man spinning The song, spinning it strong, playing things like, "When can our house begin?" That's my shit. What? Ooh. I get deep, I get deep, I get deeper, I get deeper when people start to disappear and It's about six o'clock. Ooh, I'm feeling hot. Take off my sweater and my pants, And I start to dance, and all the sweat Just goes down my face. And I pretend that there's nobody there but me In this place. I get deep, yo, I get deep. What? Woo. I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deep when he takes all the bass Out the song and all you hear is highs, And it's like, oh, shit. Ah. I get deep. I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deep, and the rhythm flows through my Blood like alcohol, and I get drunk, I'm all over the place. But I catch myself right on time, Right on line with the beat, and it's so Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet. I get deep. I get deep. I get deep. Why, if house music was air, then Doctor Love Would be my song, and I would only take Deep breaths and fill my lungs with the rhythm, With the bass. I get deep. I get deep. Lord, speak to me. Sweet speak to me. I get deep. I get deep. Now it's about three AM. I see people going pliés, spinning, jumping, And grinding as if they had wings on their Feet, raising both hands in the air as if Jesus was the DJ himself, spinning those funky, Funky, funky house beats. And in this temple, we all pray in unity For the same things. Rhythmic calls without cause, bass from those High-definition speakers sitting in the corner on Each side of the room, giving us the boom, Boom, boom to our zoom, zoom, zoom. The smell of an L lit while walking by, But the music gets me high. Sanctified like an old lady in church. We get happy. We stomp our feet. We clap our hands. We shout. We cry. We dance, and we say, "Sweet Lord, speak to Me. Speak to me, speak to me, speak to Me," because we love house music. And on this night, it brings us together like A family reunion every week. We eat. We drink. We laugh. We play. We sleep. So for all you hip-hoppers, you doo-woppers, Name-droppers, you pill poppers, come into our house To get deep. What? To get deep. To Get deep