|
Dilated Peoples - Satellite Radio lyrics
{*scratched: "I'm transmittin live, do not attempt to adjust your dial"*} {"Satellite radio"} [Evidence] Fuck the minors, this here's the major leagues Where more chicks call you "Papi" than Dave Ortiz Stand in the booth, barely at ease Right shoulder 'gainst the wall 'til my rhymes release Sharpest beats, broadcast from Jupiter Got boots on, now we know Bush is Lucifer First thing you learn is the hardest to forget First thing you learn you just a artist in debt (Listen up) Unheard of in rap, I arrived on time again Call me Ev but don't call me after 9 P.M. Wordplay sharp like clippers line my bangs Wordplay sharp like Lil Jon's fangs Wherever we go, remain on point And I master rap music every day like Tom Coin 2-4-7 flow sick like cancer sticks All I want from rap is one of the fancy chicks (believe that) Bank accounts, couple cribs, couple whips The funniest shit, this money's legit You bet I bounce, couple kids, couple dips, couple ounce American supersized in large amounts Don't look down, Evidence I rap at you (straight at you) Paint visuals that's spit-tacular Catch my frequencies, suckers never play me though Bendin C.A., I'm satellite radio {*scratched: "satellite radio"*} {*scratched: "Do not attempt to adjust your dial"*} {*scratched: "I'm transmittin live"*} [Rakaa Iriscience] We lost Shaq to the Heat like we put a match to it Debatin if Kobe's righteous or if the cat's Judas And Rakaa's about action, you can react to it Droppin science like a bad student (nah) like a grad student Media reigns like a meteor shower Claimin the love of God and put your feet on the flowers Off to Hollywood, makin sure the streets have the power On the roof of the Avalon with the bead on the tower And they never heard the click-clack, alibi I was back in Tokyo snackin on banana Kit-Kats Or Amsterdam in Damkrane(?) tryin to twist back Rap vigilante revenge over these thick tracks Heavenly glow with the heavyweight flow Like Atlas with the globe, trial of strength with the globe Addin pages to passports, we stay on the go Rollin with cats that really run L.A. on the low Where models are like winter kids playin with snow Where poor pray to get rich and rich prey on the po' Transmittin, suckers never playin me though Hit city, L.A., C.A., satellite radio {*scratched: "satellite radio"*} {*scratched: "Do not attempt to adjust your dial"*} {*scratched: "I'm transmittin live"*} {*ad lib scratches to fade*} |
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 All the Way by Calloway |
 Minutes to Midnight by Linkin Park |
 Version by Mark Ronson |
 Ray Ray by Raphael Saadiq |
 Ghetto Classics by Jaheim |
