Transmission,
third World War,
third round
A decade of the weapon of sound above ground
No shelter if you’re looking for shade
I lick shots at the brutal charade
As the polls close like a casket
On truth devoured,
silent play on the shadow of power
A spectacle, monopolized
The camera’s eyes on choice disguised
Was it cast for the mass who burn and toil?
Or for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil?
Yes a spectacle, monopolized
They hold the reins, stole your eyes
All the Fistagons, the bullets and bombs
Who stuff the banks,
who staff the party ranks
More for Gore or the son of a drug lord
None of the above, fuck it, cut the cord!
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Contact, I hijacked the frequencies
Blockin’ the beltway, move on DC
Way past the days of bombin’ MCs
Sound off, Mumia, go on, be free
Who got ‘em? Yo, check the federal file
All you pen devils know the trial was vile
Army of pigs try to silence my style
Off ‘em all out the box,
it’s my radio dial
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
It has to start somewhere
It has to start sometime
What better place than here?
What better time than now?
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
