Bomb Squad - How to k** a Radio Consultant lyrics

[Verse 1] Pusher of the bu*ton, talkin' loud ain't saying nothing The mack of the format getting fat Ain't funny cause my neighborhood is flowin' money Thank God for the boulevard, they keep the motor running The rap shows coincide with the tape flow Bootleggers go inside and record the record low They get me, get this now can you freestyle Freestyle no style's free except the radio But the radio controlled by the s**er 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 the neighborhood Swear I never seen the s**er in my neck of the woods The a** is connected to the brain stem So I sing a simple song so you can see the s**er in 'em [Verse 2] 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 they play the jammy in the daytime People think it's slammin' plus the rhyme Is hot and got me tuning The afternoon is FM in the PM Oh if that they could see 'em 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 they even got it from the giddy Stacked in the back Only black radio station in the city Programmed by a s**er 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 they need is Arbitron on the funky jeep Too bad it's going on in fact my word is bond To pull a disappearing act attack until he gone The whacker jam he play they pay I'm in the day I don't think we gonna miss 'em We don't need 'im anyway [Verse 3] 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 with some Def Jef or Ice T Show they rolling with the syndicate Or can they get funky with the underground Masta Ace get a taste, Bomb Squad getting hard Marley Marl making hipper tracks for Jack The Ripper Pumping Eric B or Papa San Still rolling with Run Did you think that ever In fact you thought that never Control of your soul is by a suit and tie Then you wonder why why never hear a rhyme Till I hear some King Sun I say we do 'em till it's done