How to Kill a Radio Consultant

Pusher of the button

Talkin' loud ain't sayin' nuttin'

The mack of the format gettin' fat

Ain't funny 'cause my neighborhood

Is flowin' money

Thank God 4 the boulevard

They keep the motor runnin'

The rap shows coincide wit' the tape flow

Bootleggers go inside and record the record low

They get me, get this now can you freestyle

Freestyle no styles free except da radio

But the radio controlled by the sucker move

Who moved away got away after plannin' a getaway

An now he wanna play what he wanna play

An got say on what is bumpin' of course he's gettin' somethin'

Never know what's good to tha neighborhood

Swear I never seen da sucker

In my necka da woods

The ass is connected to the brain stem

So I sing a simple song

So you can see the sucker in 'em

People got to make a call

To hear the yes y'all (yes y'all)

While the phone keep ringin'

You hear some singer singin'

Why don't dey play the jammy in the daytime

People think it's slammin' plus the rhyme

Is hot an got me tunin'

The afternoon is FM in the PM

Oh if that they could see 'im

Out-of-towner not down I think they'll dis him

Up goes the season, pop goes the weasel

Damn gimme rap no band I want some x-clan

I know dey even got it from the giddy

Stacked in the back

Only black radio station in the city

Programmed by a sucker in a suit

Slick back hair he don't even live here

Raps the number one pick so I draft it

I don't care about all the other demographics

When the quiet storm come on I fall sleep

What dey need is Arbitron on the funky jeep

Too bad it's goin' on in fact my word is bond

To pull a disappearin' act attack until he gone

The whacker jam he play they pay I'm in da day

I don't think we gonna miss 'im we don't need 'im anyway

Can I kick it

Who the hell is on the radio

Or who's behind

Do you really think they'll mind

To play the funky jams

That everybody wit'

Some Def Jef or Ice T

Show they rollin' wit' the syndicate

Or can dey get funky

Wit' the underground

Master ace get a taste

Bomb squad gettin' hard

Marley mart makin' hipper

Trax for Jack The Ripper

Pumpin' Eric B or Papa San

Still rollin' wit' run

Did you think that ever

In fact you thought that never

Control of your soul

Is by a suit and tie

Then U wonder why why U never hear a rhyme

I say we do 'im

Till it's done