[Verse 1: Noveliss]
The verbal assassin pull out a napkin
Wipe the lens off of the Sniper before I blast it
Target acquired, click, blaow, hip hop Halo, hit the DJ from the radio in the headphones
Put an end to the same five tunes in the afternoon
The Molotov monologue, smash a stereo to a fragment with that abstract shit
Kicking ass in a Jason Mask, Casey Jones, put down the hockey stick
And choke the life out a beat with a cordless microphone
The terminology terrorist, explode you to your burial
I'm on another plane with a stealth bomb disguised as a boombox for one of my carry on's
The monster just transferred from Transylvania, mastermind, telepathic rap shit
Xavier, snapping a rappers ankle, hit you from Kurt Angles to mangle you without lifting a finger
Telekinetic mic checking for my boom bap brethren and rock the set list
[Hook]
Death to the radio they ain't playing no jams, no more
If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side
Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three
3 - 2- 1, ah
Death to the radio they ain't playing no jams, no more
If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side
Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three
3 - 2- 1, ah
Verse 2: E-Fav]
Yo, cut my microphone volume way up past blasting
I want them people in the rafters to capture what we imagine
A potent infectious virus folding up your speaker boxes
Hope she soaking up that knowledge while she giving it
Old women ex finite, new dames on demand
I walk the way I do to expand vocal elastic bands
Wrapped every line land blowing minds
That futuristic, realer complistic simplex
Syllable iller pimp shit, whole flavors word play-a- worm hole a black matter molder
I'm a creator, chopping through you fucking haters
Got 'em choking off the vapors
Slow down baby you fucking with some niggas who flow round crazy
Let's go
[Hook]
Death to the radio they ain't playing no jams, no more
If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side
Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three
3 - 2- 1, ah
Death to the radio they ain't playing no jams, no more
If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side
Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three
3 - 2- 1, ah
[Verse 3: L.A.Z]
Tell me if my flow is crazy, deranged maybe
If I threw an old man into an old lady
Why I hit they granddaughter while she was chilling with homies
Marvin Gaye was playing I call that banging some oldies yo
L.A.Z mother fucker
I’m calling stations collect, murder my ears, songs they played 'em to death
Produce a mili like I'm bang-a-la-desh that cash money
Or power respect what’s your key to life
I’m picking the locks at birdman spot in the garage I spotted a Dodge
I jacked his Vette then circled the block
And heard, yo, whoa, did he really just taser the cops?
Hell yeah and your whole cul-de-sac just stood there and watched
They were shocked, I plugged in the matrix got lit up by voltage and watts
It fried my brains like I’m rolling up pot said, yo
Got me questioning why even put that effort in
I need Excedrin, headaches from tuning into F and M, I can't eff with them
[Hook]
Death to the radio they ain't playing no jams, no more
If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side
Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three
3 - 2- 1, ah
[Outro]
Fuck the cops, I don't care
Hng, Fuck the cops
