Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
Ras Kass, “Reelishymn,” Soul On Ice, 1996
Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
My radio’s loud like a fire alarm:
The floor vibrates, the walls cave in,
The bass makes my eardrums seem thin.
Def sounds in my ride, yes the front and back…
You would think it was a party, not a Cadillac!
My radio, believe me, I like it loud,
I’m the man with a box that can rock the crowd.
Walkin’ down the street, to the hardcore beat
While my JVC vibrates the concrete.
Suckas on my jock when I walk down the block,
I really don’t care if you’re jealous or not.